


Blue's Writing Corner

by BlueMeansStop



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Bitty Bones, Blood and Violence, But like only for a couple of fics, Character Death, Dear God Nothing Is Beta-ed I'm So Sorry, Dubious Consent, F/F, Fluff, Gen, I swear there's a lot of fun times despite the tags, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Insert, Slice of Life, Swapfell, Underfell, Unhappy Ending, gender neutral reader, how do tags even work?, mafiatale, puns, so many terrible puns, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:38:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 59,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMeansStop/pseuds/BlueMeansStop
Summary: One shots, drabbles, ficlets, whatever my brain comes up with. I dabble in a lot of the AUs with different characters. Please make sure to read each chapter's warnings in the beginning.





	1. Wake Up Call - Underfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a thing. I... don’t know what I’m doing? I haven’t written any sort of fanfiction in over ten years. I’m an uneducated nobody with a subpar imagination, I can barely spell, let alone string together proper prose. I wanted to give a little something back to an awesome community who continually amaze me.
> 
> Not sure what these will consist of, random snippets of scenes from fanfics I’ll never write, dumb scenarios that never really get out of the gate or develop further than a line or two of dialogue. So, might as well write them. These’ll span across a lot of the AU’s, different POV’s, fontcest (It will be properly labeled and tagged), a lot of Reader centric, PWP, NSFW, any and everything.
> 
> I work 65 hours a week on a minimum with only one day off. I don’t really have a lot of time to write and I am horribly slow at writing anything, but I’m aiming for at least one thing a week. Not too hard to stay on top of, I hope. I am a giant, weenie baby who easily discombobulates. So without further ado, here’s a couple of stories to start off on. What better way to start this, then with some NSFW.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Language, half assed sexy times, I’m not really that good at sexy times, Red being an ass.

You sigh quietly, breath catching at the end as rough bone trails down your thigh, pressing to indent flesh ever so lightly before they draw inward. There is an amused dark chuckle and you can feel the puff of air from parted teeth on your bared navel. Sharpened tips drag upward, leaving stinging red lines in their wake. You hiss before the pain fades into a warmth that pools in your lower abdomen. As an apology, there is a slow languid lick that follows up to your hip and your skin burns even more. You repress the shiver that threatens to slip through your resolve and fingers curl into the tangled sheets beneath you as you refuse to give in. He repeats the gesture and grazes razor sharp teeth over skin, skirting around your distracting issue and blows on the wet, abused skin, sending up a flurry of goose bumps. You catch your moan, swallowing it but you’re certain he can hear the wild mantra of your heartbeat and rapid breath in the stillness of his room. If the single flicker of a crimson eye light has anything to say about it.

Outside, it’s dark and even with the curtains drawn; you know morning is around the corner. It was why you were here, currently splayed out on his bed, the appointed skeleton nestled between your trembling legs. You hadn’t meant to end up here, but you were given the task of waking up Papyrus’ said quote, _SLOVEN BROTHER FROM HIS DISGUSING, ABYSMAL, TRASH HEAP HE CALLS A ROOM_. He hadn’t been kidding. You had been witness to San’s bedroom in broad daylight (stone ceiling crystal lights, but you weren’t going to split hairs) and you still weren’t sure how you had made it out alive that first time.

Navigating it in the dark feels treacherous, the light switch suspiciously not working when you try it and you pray you won’t get sucked into the self-sustaining trash tornado. Again. You call out quietly at first, then growing bolder when the short, snoring skeleton doesn’t answer. Stubbing your toe on god knows what, you curse loudly but that doesn’t seem to wake him either.

“Dammit, Sans,” you mutter, annoyed, as you kneel to shake the lump on the mattress awake and let out a startled sound when boney fingers latch onto your wrist and haul you forward.

“Dammit, Sans,” you mutter, breathless, curling your head to hide your face in your arm as your body betrays you and arches upward. The leg thrown casually over a bony shoulder digs inward to draw the skeleton closer. He chuckles again lowly, swiping the translucent red tongue across his smirking mouth and the bastard hums questioningly against you, curling your toes. That simmering warmth in your belly has grown into an unbearable heat that coils and aches deliciously and the stupid skeleton has kept you on the edge. The casual rest of his arm across your hips keeps you in check as you’re fairly certain you would have already jumped his bones.

He tuts, his voice still husky from sleep and he moves up to growl in your ear as fingers replace tongue. “nuh uh, sweetheart,” and you do shiver this time, “that’s a g for the swear jar.”

The glare from under your arm can melt steel and his laugh this time is softer, relaxed and you catch him off guard by the gentle cup of your hand against his mandible. Your thumb brushes against the crack that stretches upward from the golden tooth and he nuzzles your palm before nipping it hard enough to bleed. A slow, deliberate sweep of phalanges distracts you.


	2. Take a Whisk - Undertale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To wash away the sins of the previous fic, lets do something a little more wholesome. You’ll notice I can’t seem to stick to a passive/active voice and POV for each one shot (And sometimes I even muddle them), so that’s also a thing. Some stories come out differently than others. Just a head’s up for future inconsistencies.  
>  **WARNINGS:** None, its Papyrus. Well, and Sans. Does Sans require a warning? Maybe food mention? Some light language, skeletal hijinks, word japery, terrible jokes, the worst, I’m not good at puns.

“Helloooo, uhhh…” You stood awkwardly in your apartment doorway, one hand still outstretched on the door mid swing, effectively blocking off the two monsters. Your cheery greeting died in your throat, stumbling to a clumsy, screeching halt as you stared up at what had to seriously be Skeletor’s second cousin. If the cartoony villain’s extended family wore a tastefully colored argyle sweater and slacks combo. And by tastefully, you meant highlighter sharpie pink and green-checkered vest over slacks ripped into shorts held up by a bedazzled belt. Was he swearing tube socks with sandals? His straw hat and red scarf looked rather dapper. The skyscraper of a skeleton (seriously, were all monsters giant towering beings?) beamed down at you with what was quite possibly the brightest smile you’d ever had directed at you. You may have squinted a little at its force.

Beside him; an immediate towering monster theory breaker, a much shorter skeleton dressed in a pair of baggy jeans, sneakers and blue hoodie. He drug a hand from his hoodie pocket and raised it a few inches as if he intended to give the laziest of high fives, “sup.” The hand returned to the pocket and he regarded you with little fanfare and a tip of his head. The empty eye sockets were a chilling touch.

Your fingers tightened around your door handle hard enough to make the old metal squeak and you gawked until the hoodie wearing monster cleared his throat. That only made you stare a few seconds longer. How did he do that? Magic? Probably magic.

Right, right, stop staring, start talking. “Can I help you?!” You blurted out. Smooth.

“YES HUMAN!” You were blasted by the painfully cheerful voice of Skeletor’s cousin. “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM HERE FOR YOUR CULINARY COOKING LESSONS.” The immediate silence was almost as deafening as he was and you heard a baby start crying three doors down. You may have wanted to join the baby.

“Uhhh,” you tried again. You didn’t think anyone would have seen your terribly photoshoped three AM masterpiece of a flyer, let alone be interested in it. It had been a way to get your folks off your back about your layoff. You hadn’t been too terribly bothered about it, business was business and the mom and pop diner took a hit during the slow season. They had promised to hire you back when things picked up, but you weren’t holding your breath. The gentle nagging of your parents prompted you to sigh, roll your eyes and huff out a, _fine_.

You slapped together a flyer announcing you’d be doing personal cooking lessons if anyone was interested and pinned it to the laundry room corkboard amidst the expired pizza coupons, totally reputable filming companies looking for young, hot women and that one purple sock that had been there for the last three months. You never intended anyone to bother, you hadn’t even included a number to call since you knew just about everyone in your building. You only just remembered to include your apartment number and a date and time. Which you promptly forgot. It excused why you were still wearing your striped pajama bottoms like a super responsible adult at four in the afternoon.

“You don’t… from around… where you…” You were three for three in trying to talk.

“might want to complete your sentences there, pal.”

You rubbed your forehead, scrubbing your hand through your hair and laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry. I wasn’t, you know. You.” You made a vague gesture in their direction, not sure on what you were trying to convey. The taller skeleton’s smile faltered and you immediately felt like you had kicked a puppy.

“you got a problem with monsters?”

“What? Oh god, no.” You cringed and tried to backpedal. “I, I love monsters. Monsters are like super cool and awesome and my best friend is totally a monster.” You were digger yourself further into this hole. “Sorry!” You took a deep breath and let it out, continuing at a more subdue pace and tone, “I just, wasn’t expecting anyone to show up and I wasn’t expecting you. Strangers! I mean, strangers.”

These two were definite strangers, and even though your building was on the rather large size, you’d have remembered being neighbors with a couple of skeletons. In fact, the only monsters you knew who lived here were the odd blue bunny and orange cat couple. They seemed like a mismatched pair made in heaven.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how’d you find out about my flyer?”

“SANS SAW IT DELIVERING VALIENTO’S LAST WEEK.”

Sans? Your eyes drifted to the shorter skeleton again, who looked about ready to fall asleep where he stood. That, actually left you with more questions than before. Mainly, what was the delivery guy doing in the laundry room in the basement of your building?

“looked like a pretty _appetizing_ deal.”

You narrowed your eyes at the pun while Papyrus tsked briskly. “SANS NO. THE HUMAN WILL NEVER LET US IN THEIR APARTMENT IF YOU START YOUR WORD HIJINKS.”

“sorry bro.” Sans didn’t sound that sorry. “so, what do ya say, kid? you going to _lettuce_ in or what?”

“Um.”

“WE HAVE CASH.”

“Mi casa es su casa.”

“OU SONT LES TOILETTES.”

“… What?”

“I THOUGHT WE WERE SAYING THINGS IN DIFFERENT LANGUAGES?”

“ _oui oui_.”

“THAT FEELS DECEPTIVELY LIKE ANOTHER PUN, BROTHER.”

“nah.”

You pried your hand off your door and took a step back to let them in. Monsters were generally nice all around, you reasoned in your befuddled daze. Besides, why would a monster trek three stories up to your door at the opposite end of the stairwell and do… unsavory things. If they were here to rob you, you probably would have laughed and helped them look for anything valuable. Shit, what if they found your Walkman and mixed tapes? Still, you had never heard anything bad monster related in the news, other than awful things happening to them because the world was why you couldn’t have nice things. Monsters were… nice. Even the orange cat guy who occasionally smoked in the stairwell when it rained, was pretty nice. Weird, but nice. Also, you weren’t about to turn down a paying job. Money was the root of evil. That, evil, evil goodness that did evil things like pay bills and put food on your table. Speaking of food. You hadn’t gone shopping but maybe you could make do with whatever you had.

…What _did_ you have?

Papyrus pointed two fingers at his eye sockets then at Sans in a silent warning before ducking his head to glide through. You introduced yourself quickly, trailing after the larger skeleton who made a prompt dash toward your kitchen, pulling his straw hat off to hang it neatly beside your own scarf, jacket and backpack in the entryway. Sans followed, closing the door behind him and took the time to look around.

“sweet pad,” he said, eyeing the couch.

“Thanks,” you called over your shoulder, trying to keep up with the energetic skeleton bounding around to ooo and awww over everything in your apartment. “So, this is uh, my kitchen and where we’ll be today,” you offered lamely, teaching clearly not your forte. Time to dig deep and pull out your inner Gordan Ramsey. Minus the angry yelling, of course. “I’m uh, not quite set up… but it’s totally on purpose. Yeah. A good cook always gets their own kitchen in order before they… cook.”

Papyrus was already scribbling down something in a small notebook he produced from a pocket. A small container that hadn’t been there earlier sat atop your island counter. There was a crisp, yellow sticky note atop it, depicting a stick figure skeleton and human holding hands. The skeleton had cool sunglasses. “…BEFORE YOU COOK.” He dotted a period at the end and looked up. “OHO, I SEE YOU ARE EYING MY GOODS.”

“No I’m not!” Appalled at his suggestion, you watched in tepid horror as he settled a hand atop his plastic container, giving it a light caress. “Oh… yeah, no, yes?”

“I THOUGHT IT CUSTOMARY TO BRING A GIFT AND WHAT BETTER GIFT THAN THE GIFT OF FRIENDSHIP.” He peeled back the lid, took a step back for you to gaze upon his magnificence and added a theatrical wiggle of fingers as presentation. “AND SPAGHETTI.”

It looked like pasta with– “Is that glitter?”

“YES!”

You took a closer look. “…Is it edible glitter?”

“ALL GLITTER IS EDIBLE IF YOU TRY HARD ENOUGH.”

At least he had some experience in the kitchen and the pasta looked decent enough, even with the copious amount of multicolor glitter. Wait. You leaned forward for an even closer look. Were those heart shaped sequins too?

“I MADE IT WITH EXTRA LOVE. NOT **LOVE LOVE** , BUT _LOVE LOVE_.”

You weren’t sure what the difference was between the two, despite the way he dropped an octave saying the first, but it seemed important. “I appreciate the gift, but, uh, humans can’t eat glitter, even if we try. We could potentially die.” The crestfallen look returned and you scrambled quick to rectify it. “But, you can tell me how it tastes. I’m assuming monsters can eat glitter?” He nodded enthusiastically but you were still a little skeptical. “Good, then how was it?”

“I DON’T KNOW.”

“Why not?”

“NEVER TRIED IT.” He offered with the lightest of shrugs.

“Never tried? Papyrus, you can’t cook and not taste your own food. How do you know if it tastes good?”

He gave you a perplexed look, solid bone twisting up to scrunch in a light frown as if this was an entirely foreign concept to him. “EVERYTHING I MAKE IS A MASTERPIECE. BECAUSE I AM A MASTER. OF PIECES. OF FOOD?” He sounded almost quizzical, as if realizing it didn't quite come together at the end.

You hummed thoughtfully and looked for Sans, figuring the brother would have some input on that. Where did the little guy go? A quiet shuffle of paper drew your attention to the couch where you could see the top of his skull over the back as he riffled through your really old magazines of Taste of Home, Food Network and Teen Vogue. That last one wasn’t yours but for whatever reason it kept showing up every month and maybe you leafed through it a few times out of morbid curiosity. Sans chuckled.

Yeah, well… shut up.

“you’ve got some _issues_ , kid.”

Seriously, shut up.

You turned back to Papyrus who was worrying the edge of his tattered scarf between fingers when you hadn’t immediately confirmed his totally accurate statement. Oh god, now he looked like a kicked puppy who just lost their best friend, who was also a puppy. A puppy orphan. Time to amend your grievous sin.

“Even a master is always learning, perfecting their craft. That’s what makes them a master, yeah? The ability to know they can always improve.”

“YOU ARE RIGHT HUMAN!” Your neighbors were really going to thank you tomorrow for the excess shouting. Wasn’t your fault the walls were so thin. You could taste the impending noise complaint and it was salty as hell. Papyrus released his scarf and set his hands on his hips to stand in a heroic pose. It was a little disconcerting at how fast he could switch up his emotions, uncertainty still edging into the small eye lights. “EVEN THE GREAT PAPYRUS LEARNS SOMETHING NEW EVERY DAY. DID YOU KNOW THAT ALL CLOWNFISH ARE BORN MALE AND WILL ONLY CHANGE SEX TO BECOME THE DOMINANT FEMALE?”

“I have to say, I did not.”

Papyrus beamed. “IT REALLY MADE WATCHING FINDING NEMO A BIT DIFFERENT AFTER LEARNING THIS.”

Huh.

You… really needed to get dressed, like right this very moment. “Why don’t you go ahead and look around and check the fridge. The pantry’s over there to the right,” you nodded when the skeleton gestured toward the tall cabinet door, “yeah, that’s it and see if there’s something you want to make today.”

“YOU’RE LETTING ME CHOOSE?” His voice rose up a couple of octaves and you were certain you could hear the actual sparkles that accompanied the happy tone.

“Sure, wouldn’t be a fun first lesson if you made something you didn’t like. I need to excuse myself for a tic, but go ahead, my kitchen is yours. I’ll be right back.” Papyrus nodded quickly and turned to root around in your fridge with a happy hum, giving you the opportunity to slip away and you remembered the second brother.

“You’re welcome to join Sans. No extra charge.”

“nah, i’m good here on the couch.” A hand popped up to wave lazily over the backrest and flopped back out of sight. “just gunna _sit_ this one out.”

“Please, stop.”

Your mildly irked response wrangled a quiet laugh from him and you resisted the urge to look back to see if the large grin was still in place. You were pretty sure it was, he was a skeleton after all. Was that racist? Speciest? Monster…ist? God, you were really going to have to bone up on your monster lingo if these two were going to come back. If there was ever a good time for your social awkwardness to flair up, well, there was never actually a good time for it, you thought as you slipped into your bedroom, closing the door behind to strip and find your adult pants.

Heh, bone.

…Dammit, Sans.

Digging out a pair of clean socks, you sat on the edge of your unmade bed and tugged them on. This was so stupid, what were you doing? You just let two complete strangers in your apartment, monsters, but strangers nevertheless and they were currently making themselves cozy in your kitchen and living room. Pretty sure your nana would be rolling in her grave. No, you took that back. Your parents would be having the conniption fit while nana would be cackling loudly along side Sans while teaching Papyrus how to peel an apple in one go with nothing but a paring knife and skilled fingers. You glanced over at the crowded pictures on your nightstand and picked out your grandmother, standing tall next to a fallen Redwood the one time she visited California.

Shoving your feet into a pair of well-worn sneakers, you laced them quickly. You could hear your parents now. _You let them, inside? And talked to them? Next you’re going to tell me, you took candy from them_. You hadn’t exactly accepted the glittery spaghetti, so that didn’t count. Right? You hesitated. Your Due South DVD collection wasn’t that valuable, was it?

Shoving your parent ingrained paranoia aside, you made your properly dressed way out and headed back to the kitchen, passing Sans sprawled out on the couch with a magazine perched over his face. There was the distinct reverb of snores from underneath it, ruffling the glossy pages. Papyrus had found one of your aprons, a red one with blue and white flowery text along the front in the guise of steam rising from a cartoony pie. _Baking is Science for Hungry People_. It was one of your favorites. He had wrapped the ties twice around his non-existenct waist, carving quite the figure with it and rolled up his sleeves to a cooking appropriate height. His bright smile widened at your return. Guess your Canadian Mountie addiction was safe for another day.

“Decided on what you want to make?” You grabbed your other apron, a simple blue one with _Kiss The Cook_ scribbled in a red ketchup splatter text and eyed what he had found. Your onions looked a little questionable, but the meat was fine, you took that out yesterday to defrost. You moved to your basin sink to wash your hands, noting the mixing bowl, cutting board and a large skillet and pot also set out.

YES I HAVE. BUT, FIRST, SINCE YOUR ATTIRE INSISTS.” He bent suddenly and clacked his teeth against your cheek with an audible “MUAH!” To illustrate the chaste peck before straightening to line up a few vegetables while your brain short circuited. Your grasp on the soap dispenser mid pump tightened and with a light pop, it gushed over your hands and plopped in thick globs into the empty sink. You swore that never happen to you before.

“… Wha-?”

He gave you a puzzled glance. “I ADDED THE SOUND EFFECT FOR EMPHASIS. SKELETON KISSES ARE HARD TO DISTINGUISH FROM A GENTLE HEADBUTT.”

“Yeah, but…???” You made an indistinguishable sound, bordering on a lightly distressed grunt.

“SORRY, BUT NO TONGUE ON THE FIRST DATE.”

“That’s not what I meant!” You whirled around, water conservation be damned and pressed back against the sink. Your soapy hands were lofted in a not so subtle why gesture and your faced matched the color of Papyrus’ apron. Sans’ distinct snoring had stopped and you felt that was suddenly much more important to give your undivided attention.

“SPAGHETTI.”

That drew you back to the taller of the brothers and you missed the empty eye sockets watching you from over the couch. Was that some sort of weird monster food endearment? Like the human equivalent of cupcake and snicker doodle. Or bran muffin.

He looked expectantly at you. “I WANT TO MAKE SPAGHETTI HUMANS CAN EAT.”

That… was actually a sensible idea, but didn’t really excuse what just happened. “I, okay. but, please, Papyrus. Don’t do that again.” You made a waving gesture toward your beet red face, flinging a glob of soap on your cheek and you flinched.

“OKAY.” It was a cheery confirmation, though by the crease of his brow bone he wasn’t entirely sure what you were getting at but he was apt to please his newly appointed culinary teacher. The snoring from the couch resumed and the apartment felt ten times lighter. You hadn’t realized the brief, confused tension until Papyrus was happily digging nosily through a drawer for a wooden spoon.

You pointed out the old, ceramic cookie jar where you kept your larger utensils before turning around to rinse your hands. You heard Papyrus chuckle in adorable little nyeh heh hehs, over the silliness of a cookie jar not holding cookies and with a realization, you looked down at your apron and the upside down text. Oh, right. Well, now you couldn’t really be that mad if Papyrus had mistaken your apron for an actual request. Maybe monster social cues were different, there was that whole striped sweater thing you couldn’t really figure out. That had caused a few awkward moments wearing one around town and without fail a monster would worriedly pull you aside and ask where your parents or guardians were. You didn’t look that young, did you? Maybe you’d consider it flattering if they didn’t insist they hold your hand until an adult was found. Maybe it was the same with other clothes? Monsters had only been on the surface for a few years now, you didn’t expect them to conform to everything human.

Great. Now you felt like a heel. You felt you should apologize, but then you weren’t really sure what you were apologizing for. Taking an extra minute to wipe your hands dry, you set the hand towel on the edge of your sink and ran fingers over the faded flowers before grabbing the large mixing bowl Papyrus had set out and refocused on the afternoon task. This wasn’t going to be too bad, the guy knew his way around a kitchen and already knew how to make spaghetti. That already cut frustration and annoyance down to half, you’d always been patient in the kitchen but boy, there were those certain line cooks who could be the absolute worse. You figured you could squeak by today by playing supervisor, then you’d really get into gear and plan out the next lesson properly.

So this was really happening. “You ready, Papyrus?”

“READY CHEF!” The skeleton posed dramatically, fists poised on hips and he gave a dramatic toss of his head and the red, battered scarf fluttered quite convincingly. You only refrained from snorting and covered it with a clearing of your throat, an amused grin in place.

“You can just call me by my name.”

“READY, HUMAN.”

Eh, close enough. You started it out easy, washing vegetables and left Papyrus to handle it while you peeled a few layers off your onion, bringing out a knife to start chopping it and the ensuing tomatoes. He gave a melodramatic flip of your sink’s faucet and instead of the rushing gush of precious life giving water he expected, it came out a mere trickle. “Oh, yeah, sometimes I lose pressure around this time. Everyone’s coming home and using water, so it’s a thing.”

“THEN HOW WILL I RIGHTEOUSLY CLEANSE THESE VEGETABLES OF THEIR FILTH IF I CANNOT BLAST THEM WITH THE FURY OF PROPER PLUMBING?”

“Use the vegetable brush?”

“AH, RIGHT YOU ARE!”

Overlooking your awkwardness at the door and the sink kiss, your cheeks warmed at that, this was going relatively well. You made small talk to help fill in the gaps between instructions and patted dry the only lightly bruised tomatoes from their vigorous scrubbing. You found out the brothers lived a bit a ways, almost on the other side of town and resided in an apartment complex more catered to monsters. Sans was working the odd job here and there, delivery driver, security, janitor, part time concession stand owner down at the pier that sold something that suspiciously looked like water reeds in a hot dog bun and you couldn’t fault the guy for falling asleep on your couch. It was pretty comfy.

“THANK YOU HUMAN. IN LIEU OF MY EXCITEMENT OF YOUR ACCEPTANCE, I FORGOT TO PROPERLY THANK YOU WITH WORDS.” Papyrus wiped his hands and held one out toward you.

“Oh yeah, you’re totally welcome, man. Uh, skeleton. Skeleton man?”

“SURE.”

You stared at his hand for a moment, uncertain, then reached out to grasp it before firmly giving it a solid shake. You weren’t sure what bone was going to feel like, would it be like shaking hands with a giant turkey foot? It was surprisingly warm, warmer than your own but felt exactly like a clawed turkey foot would feel like. Something passed between the handshake and not as if you were expecting bridges to be gaped or worlds to be united, it was something simple and nice and the two of you shared a quiet smile.

Your progress trickled to a crawl as you chatted, both at ease standing in the kitchen though Papyrus had to watch your hanging pots over your island counter. He narrowly avoided banging his head on them at least half a dozen times. He worked part time at the local museum as a docent, though he admitted it was mostly volunteer work but there was a need for guides with the newly acquired monster relics and a few thousand years or so of monster history to sort through. You could see the tall skeleton as a guide with his flair and gusto for life, the way he gestured grandly. Papyrus scrambled to grab the pot he smacked his hand on to keep it from clattering off its hook and straightened it. You laughed warmly and he followed with a slightly embarrassed chuckle before it bloomed into a theatrical and blaring laugh that rang throughout your apartment. Sans, unsurprisingly didn’t stir.

You leaned against the counter with arms folded loosely as you shook your head, pleasantly at peace. You weren’t sure when it happened but you were glad it did. There was no need for your parent’s well-intentioned concern to ruin anything. Papyrus and Sans seems like really cool people. Pap was distinctly theatrical and kind and there didn’t seem to be a mean bone (no pun intended) in his body. Dear god, someone protect this precious gem of a soul. He wasn’t ignorant either, well aware of most of his surroundings and understood why Sans had tagged along. You might have taken offense to that, but he was right. They didn’t know what kind of person you were, going off on a flyer’s ad only. Papyrus said it was your liberal use of the comic sans font that made Sans consider it. Comic sans… of course he would. The information you gleamed from Papyrus about him, painted him as a typical big brother, hard working, selfless, a slob. You could identity with all of that.

That prompted Papyrus to inquire about you. There wasn’t much to say, big family, both sides loved to cook, but it was your dad’s side of your family that did it professionally. You came from a simple line of cooks and chefs, your grandfather was a cook in the military, your father and his siblings followed, your aunt owned a restaurant in the next city over, too far for you to travel though there was always a job opening for you, an uncle who was a semi famous chef in New York. Your older sister worked for your aunt and the rest of your siblings were still living at home. Maybe it was the middle child syndrome but you had wanted to strike out on your own and it’d been a struggle with night school and work. Papyrus and Sans were also going to night school, apparently having an education underground meant nothing top side and so many monsters had to start over.

“Awful, right?”

“THE WORSE, BUT I LOVE IT.”

You asked him the next time he was working you’d come stop by for a tour. You didn’t think it was possible for the skeleton’s smile to get any bigger and before you could stop him, he swept you off your feet and hugged tightly, proudly boosting you were his new best friend and oh the fun and shenanigans you would get into.

Back on solid ground you wobbled and kept yourself upright with a helpful hand on the counter and decided you should continue your cooking lessons. You didn’t think your ribs could take another crushing hug like that. You moved on, stating you didn’t have the time to make tomato paste from scratch, though maybe that could be for another day. Rooting around in your pantry for a can, you received a scandalized gasp from Papyrus and tossed him the can only for him to catch it in one deft move.

“Nice. Also nice? Learning to use what you got. Sometimes you have to make due with what’s around you.” There was a minute flicker in the small, white eye lights and you felt as if you said something wrong again and it threw you for a moment. “I, uh…” shit. “Seasonings are your best friend and we’ll add in some oregano and basil to the ground beef while it cooks.” Papyrus perked up at that. “I personally like to add mushrooms and peppers to mine, but only after it’s had time to cook. Basically, you don’t want to see any pink before adding anything else.” He was back to scribbling notes in his notebook and you gave him a moment to complete them.

“Here, Papyrus.” You dumped your cut up onion into the pan, hearing the delicious hiss of it meeting the lick of olive oil you added and passed him the tomatoes and cutting board. “Go ahead and dice these up while I keep an eye on the meat.” So much for supervising, you never could keep your hands out of anyone’s cooking.

You barely caught the low chuckle from the couch and there was something off about it, wholly amused but something else skirted around the edges. Like you unwittingly set up the punch line for a joke. A Sans joke. You turned to send an accusatory glare in his direction just as Papyrus brought his hand down. You didn’t really think there was a lot of liquid in a tomato, but well, experience made fools of us all. You’re pretty sure that’s not how the actual saying went, but the bungled proverb was surprisingly accurate.

“WOWIE, THAT ONE GOT SOME DISTANCE.” Papyrus craned his head up to look at the splatter of tomato along the high ceiling and eyed it with a critical socket.

You nudged the meat off the fire before taking a hand across your face, pulling the chunk of tomato that threatened to become one with your right eye and dropped it into the sink behind you. “I gave you a knife.” You wanted to go with deadpan, but it came out incredulous as you stared at the pristinely cleaned and unused knife beside the cutting board.

“THE HAND IS MIGHTER THAN THE KNIFE!”

“Not in my kitchen.” There was the deadpan and you only marginally felt bad when Papyrus wilted and you sighed, leaning back against the sink. You let the brief irritation go and your shoulders slumped. You weren’t even that upset to begin with, just caught off guard by the karate chop to the decimated pulp of tomatoes. Heh. Hehe. Oh no.

“I’m not,” you started, wanting to stave off the oncoming kicked puppy with sad puppy orphan friend look and the ridiculousness of the afternoon caught up to you in a rush of absurdity. Your shoulders trembled with the effort to keep the laughter from bubbling up. “I’m not ma-heh.” You cleared your throat and tried one more time. “I’m no-ha.” Before dissolving into a desperate sob of laughter, burying your face in your hands when you snorted.

“SANS!” There was hint of panic in Papyrus’ voice. “SANS. I THINK I BROKE ANOTHER HUMAN. YOU TOLD ME NOT TO OVERWHELM THEM WITH MY AMAZINGNESS AND I DIDN’T LISTEN!” He fluttered around you, hands hovering just shy of touching. “WHAT DO I DO, SANS?!”

“there’s no saving them now, bro.”

These two were not helping. “I’m… not… mad.” You hiccupped between wheezes.

“you might want a second opinion there, kiddo.”

“Zip it, peanut gallery.” You half expected a peanut related pun to follow but you were graced with relative silence as you allowed yourself a good long moment to get it out of your system. You exhaled loudly and scrubbed your hands across your hot face. This was fine, everything was fine, Papyrus was fine.

You wet the hand towel you slung over the sink and motioned for Papyrus to bend down, cheeks flushed from your lighthearted breakdown. He complied with only a hint of uncertainty and you wiped away the splash of tomato from his cheekbone (Zygomatic? You were going to have to beef up on your skeleton anatomy) before tossing it over his head, earning a startled nyeh before he snatched it away, a light dusting of orange across his face. That was just as interesting as Sans clearing his non existent throat, if not more and you probably shouldn’t have been staring so intently, causing the blush to deepen to a brilliant coral.

“All right,” you conceded. “It’s all good Papyrus, I haven’t had this much fun in a long time. Guess, I was kinda feeling sorry for myself today and you turned this frown upside down.” You ignored Sans’ golf clap of approval of the turn of phrase. “And I feel like I’m going to regret this, but lets try it your way, Pap.”

That relative peace you felt earlier, dissolved into utter chaos for the next hour. It didn’t help with Sans tossing in the occasional pasta related pun, much to yours and Papyrus’ annoyance. He even managed to work in the occasional clever one and you had to give the short skeleton his props. _Penne for your thoughts_ made you grin.

“hey. hey pap. hey.”

“WHAT SANS?” You could hear Papyrus’ jaw clench as he didn’t bother to look over to the smirking skeleton draped over the back of your couch.

“what do you call a dodgy neighborhood in italy?”

“SANS. I’M NOT-”

“a _spaghetto_.”

Papyrus’ snerk caught all three of you off by surprise and he clamped a hand over his mouth as if he had been betrayed. You didn’t think Sans could smile any bigger.

“YES, THANK YOU _FIORI_ TERRIBLE JOKES, BROTHER!”

You stood corrected. Sans’ smile could get bigger.

~*~*~*~*~

By evening, you felt like you had been in a turf war of entrees, finished a battle royale of food, participated on some crazy Japanese cooking show. Like actual Iron Chef but everything was fire. There was bits of mushrooms in your hair, tomato sauce streaked across your apron, a burn on your arm though that was partially your fault. Who knew water could actually catch aflame. You sagged against the sink, your place of refuge and watched Pap survey his accomplishments.

“Jesus wept, man.”

“DID HE?”

“It’s a… figure of speech. You did it.” You were so proud, you little mini chef was sprouting wings and taking flight. You lofted your hand up and over your head, opening a cabinet without looking and pulled down a mismatched plate. “Ready to try it?”

“OH, NO THANK YOU. I DON’T REALLY LIKE SPAGHETTI.”

You were a little more than baffled as you scooped the slightly overdone noodles onto the plate. “Then why did you want to make it?”

“BECAUSE EVERYONE SEEMS TO ENJOY IT AND I WANTED YOU TO TRY MY SPAGHETTI AND NOT DIE. I’M FAIRLY CERTAIN KILLING MY TEACHER IS FROWNED UPON IN THE CULINARY ARTS.”

“As is all around general murder.”

“THAT TOO. SANS! COME TRY MY WORLD REKNOWNED SPAGHETTI. I NEED AN UNBIASED OPINION.”

Not sure how unbiased that opinion would be, but you kept quiet as Sans dragged himself from the couch, shuffled over to the island table and hefted himself up onto one of the stools. He offered Papyrus a sleepy blink and soft grin before focusing on the plate you shoved in front of him. You didn’t think anything could rattle the lazybones but he sat poised, fork in hand and hesitated long enough for Papyrus to fidget.

“GO ON, SANS.”

“i’m uh, admiring it.” He poked at the spaghetti, lifting a few noodles to peer cautiously around it, shoved aside a mushroom and flipped a chunk of meat over to inspect it. “appreciating it, in all of its noodle glory.”

“Sorry, there’s no glitter this time.”

“I COULD ADD SOME.”

“uh, that’s okay. gotta try it _sans la mode_.”

Papyrus gave a disappointed shake of his head. “AWFUL.”

“I’m going to have to agree with Pap on that one.” Sans was starting to look a little blue around the collar and maybe you did dodge a bullet with the inedible glitter. A very sparkly, pretty bullet.

“What’s the matter Sans,” you couldn’t help but dig a little. “You _alfredo_?”

“HUMAN NO! SANS, YOU HAVE TURNED THEM TO THE DARK SIDE OF YOUR TERRIBLE PUNNERY.”

“can’t have _nunnery_ of that.” Both you and Papyrus groaned. “too sacrilegious? okay, okay, i _noah_ when to stop.”

“Do you?” You squinted at him.

“have a little _faith_ in me.” He winked back.

“ENOUGH. EAT. THE. SPAGHETTI.”

Neither of you missed the trepidation behind the order and Sans obediently dug his fork into the middle, giving it a slow, long, meticulous spin before achingly slowly brought it to his mouth. If you hadn’t been staring, you’d have never guessed he actually ate it but the fork came away clean and he scrunched his face. Papyrus and you leaned closer together, waiting, Pap clutched the end of his scarf in one hand and gnawed on the edge of his thumb while you folded your hands.

“whoa bro, you made this? it’s… really, really good.”

The magical sparkles returned full force in the eardrum bursting laugh and considering you were standing right next to him, you missed the rest of Papyrus’ exclamation as he danced around Sans giddily. Rubbing your ear briskly, you picked up a second fork and reached across the island to snag a bite. Ceiling tomatoes weren’t that bad.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

The melodically rhythmic knock at your front door made you start and you swiveled, still in the process of tugging on your pajama bottoms and toweling your wet, faintly tomato-y hair. Your hip cracked your side table and you grunted, giving a little hop to keep your balance before you pulled the soft, fluffy bottoms all the way up. You glanced at the hall clock as you passed by and the knock came again in five quick beats, a pause and then two more, the sing-songy knocking tugging at a childhood memory.

“All right, all right, hold your horses,” you muttered to yourself, bare feet padding along the floor taking you to your entryway and as you reached the door to open it, you gave pause. “Who’s there?”

“carmen.”

You instantly recognized that voice and slid your chain off your door to open it, rubbing the towel through your hair. “Did you guys forget something?” Sans stood in front of you, sans Papyrus and you stared down at the lone skeleton.

“that’s not how the joke goes.” Sans grinned at your eye roll and pulled his hand from his pocket, holding a crumpled envelope. “you forgot this.”

Dumbly you accepted it, unsure of how you could forget something in your own apartment. Slinging the wet towel over your shoulder, you popped open the sealed edge, tearing through the glue with only a slight paper cut. “I didn’t for- holy shit!” You clutched the envelope of crinkled bills and stared at the amount of them. “Sans!”

“that’s my name, don’t wear it out.” He nearly twirled on his heel at that one but your quietness made him put it on hold. “is it enough?”

You never did get around to discussing payment, but this was a lot more than enough. Like way more, like an extra zero and misplaced decimal point, enough. “Sans, this is too much, I can’t take this.” You held it out for him to take it back and he shoved his hand back into his hoodie pocket.

“nah, it’s just the right amount. you really made my bro happy today.” There was no mistaking the adoration in his voice and his ever present smile tightened painfully. “not a lot of people understand or appreciate his zest for life.”

“Well, he’s got enough zest for a dozen lemon tarts.” Sans’ sharp bark of laughter made you start and you only just realized your mistake. “Dammit, that was not intentional, you…”

“monster?”

“I was going to say nerd!” Your hasty explanation didn’t go missed and Sans’ smile relaxed.

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “youch, pretty harsh name calling there, pal.”

You folded your arms, crinkling the envelope in your hand and you carefully adjusted your equally mocking stance of indignation. “Only the worst for you.”

He chuckled and the hand returned to his pocket. “Thanks, for you know, my bro and stuff. You’re not so bad for a human.”

“Thanks?” You were going to take that as a compliment for now.

“see ya around next time?”

“Yeah. Oh, Sans,” He paused mid turn to face you again. “My offer still stands. You’re more than welcome to join in on the cooking lessons.”

“i’m good with eating the finished product.” He took in your pastry printed pajamas with an amused twinkle. “’sides, i’ve already formed a bond with your couch and i hate to make it _jelly_.”

“Ugh, Sans no. Good. Night.” You shut the door on him and could hear his laughter through it as you walked away.


	3. Break Me - Swapfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a weakness for Swapfell and my little trash babies. I have a couple of different headcanons for them and this is just a vague taste of one of them. I’d like to write another one shot or two where it’s solely the brothers.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Grievous injuries, blood, allude to previous abuse, suicide ideation, little bit of Stockholm syndrome.

There is the distinct crackle of magic in the air and it smells like him, sharp like winter and electricity, mixed with the faint undertone of spices. Cumin, you think offhandedly as he circles you in a wider berth. Magic threatens to spill from his eye and it churns in the hollow socket, swirls of pretty violets and deep mauves and the jagged cracks stretching from it glow in the fading light of the ceiling crystals. It’s unnerving, casting flickering shadows across the smooth white bone and one moment the snarl looks almost soft, disappointed and the next it’s fierce and enraged, carved with permanence. You can feel the killing intent behind it and you don’t even have a lick of magic in your frail human bones.

His delicate build is deceiving even out of uniform, something you fell for once and he is lithe and supple, moving on the snow covered ground with ease. Of course he would, you think as you drift in the opposite direction to keep as much as space between you as possible. He grew up here. In hand is a jagged and weathered bone, conjured from the depths of his magic and he welds it easily despite its size. He lets the broken edge draw through the snow behind him, leaving a thin trail between footsteps and it leaves behind wisps of red to melt in the whiteness. Your bloodied side throbs in reply when he lifts it.

His voice is too young for the authority he commands and you can hear it in the restrained tone, the fury roiling behind his carefully crafted words. “What did you say to me, whelp?” Sans doesn’t need to shout or raise his voice but he does so often, you detach yourself and he finds it doesn’t have the same desired effect as speaking in a quiet hushed tones. It makes your skin crawl when he presses close to you, sharpened phalanges biting into flesh to make him look at you and his laughter is nothing but cruel and full of promises. When he talks like this, you find you’re already bending a knee out of reflex to shift the smoldering ire before catching yourself.

“I said, NO!” You shout back in your sudden rush of adrenaline induced false confidence, voice edging on hysteria on the last word. You’re nearly giddy at your blatant defiance and it’s a high that leaves you wobbly and hazy. It’ll probably get you killed and your soul unceremoniously shoved in a dirty jar too, but wouldn’t that be a better outcome than the usual? Your breath is ragged in your ears as you gulp for burning, frozen air. Dust sticks in the back of your throat and you nearly choke on it. You never could get used to the stale, dusty air of the Underground. You press your hand protectively against your side, willing it to staunch the languid flow of blood seeping through your clothes. You won’t die of blood loss, Sans is too precise and calculated to let you leave so easily. Still, there’s a small frantic part of you that wants to claw at the wound, rip it further and save your last breath to gloat from the darkness at the screeching skeleton. Really give him something to yell about.

You settle for pressing harder, fresh pain washing over old, half healed injuries and you wish you can stand to your full height instead of stumbling around in a hunch on the forest floor. What you really hope is sweat and not blood from the gash above your brow, threatens to blind your already blurry vision and you suck in another dirty lungful of air. The almost carefree fall of new snow; a guarantee of an upcoming flurry you had hoped would help cover your tracks, feels like tiny little needles and the fur lined jacket you’re wearing is way too hot, way too big for your build but you hadn’t exactly had the luxury of choice. Still, you can’t stop shivering.

The snarl slides into something darker, quieter and you want to wilt, drop to the ground, drown yourself in snow and beg his forgiveness. It’s an awful habit, so easy to fall back into it and forget why you were even in the forest to begin with. Maybe, maybe, it wont be so bad this time, you reason. You’ll be punished for certain but you can appeal to his finer tastes. He likes when you cry a lot and maybe you can squeeze a few tears out of your already wrung out body. Too many maybes.

You do the next logical thing your brain thinks and stick your tongue out at him and you barely manage to dodge the bone constructs that wisp into existence. Boots slid in the slush you’ve already churned up and you have to drop your hands down to keep on your feet, leaving a bloody handprint behind as you scurry on all fours like a frenzied animal. More constructs are lobbed in your direction, curving your escape to round back toward him. You had hoped to make it to the River Person this time.

Clawing at the snow, you desperately grasp a fallen branch still welding a few shriveled pine needles and whirl around to face the skeleton, brandishing it like Excalibur itself. It might as well been the imaginary weapon with the amount of good it was going to do. Your side throbs sharply and you grunt, shifting forward to alleviate the pull but you overcompensate, nearly stumbling and Sans has the audacity to smirk before he dismisses the large bone in his hand. He brushes off imaginary (and quite possibly real) dust from his bared forearm and stalks forward. You immediately backpedal and into the distinct shape of the taller skeleton brother.

Arms encircle you before you can react, lacking the familiar scruff of the dark jacket. It’s so terribly familiar and comforting, you find yourself going slack. His arms tighten, trapping yours against your body, folding them neatly to your chest. You can feel the outline of the ulna and radius pressing into your bruised flesh and Papyrus doesn’t mask the effort to keep your side clear. He however squeezes until you wheeze out in pain and the branch tumbles from frozen fingers to thump quietly into the snow at your feet. It’s fruitless to struggle, but you do anyways.

“stop,” he mumbles thickly into your hair, subservience weighing heavily on his shoulders and he leans into you, swaying lightly. You can’t move, not when he’s practically holding you off the ground but you scratch at anything you can reach and broken nails catch on a hairline fracture. Fear drives you, sudden and lurching, spiking fear that’s shards in your belly and hammers at your head. Ice water runs through your veins, mirroring the faint babble of the river runoff that’s so tantalizing close.

Maybe you can wrench free and fling yourself into it.

Maybe.

Papyrus doesn’t flinch and you can smell the marrow leaking from the already drying crack in his skull. Tit for tat, you think as not sweat drips into your eyes and your blurry vision tints red. You can feel the metal loop of his collar pressing into the back of your head and you try and jerk away, your own matching collar jangles loudly. You only stop struggling when he latches onto your hand and exerts just enough pressure for the fine bones to grind together.

He doesn’t leave you enough room to breath and you pant shallowly, ribs pressed solidly into your spine, grounding you in the moment. You can only watch as Sans marches smugly toward you and as you lock eyes with the Captain of the Royal Guard, you manage a shaky, mirthless laugh as a deceivingly delicate hand rears up to strike.

“Make me.”


	4. One More Time - Undertale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little bit of a heads up, unless otherwise stated, none of these stories are connected in their respected universes. The alternative was Sansby, but I was hesitant to write Grillby. But feel free to stick the fire monster in place of the Reader. It works if you squint a little.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Alcohol, language, some adult naughty times, little bit of self harm/injury.

Friday nights were usually reserved for Grillby’s, pending work, and being on the surface hadn’t really changed his routine. What did it really matter anyways? He’d been here before and he’d be here again. Same jokes, same drinks, same broken glass from – CRASH – Punk Hamster. In some timelines, the monster actually apologizes and cleans it up and Sans mentally makes bets with himself. He always loses.

“hey grillbz,” he sings, alcohol already slurring his words and he doesn’t care, blearily staring at his friend in front of him. He tries to wink but ends up blinking awkwardly. Fire crackles amusedly in response, glass in hand as the bartender polishes it to a shine. “did i ever tell you the one about the skeleton doctor?” He makes a gesture toward his empty glass and knocks them back as fast as Grillby doles them out, countering with jokes he’s said a thousand times over. With each new drink, the jokes progressively get darker and only when he pauses to drain the rest of the ketchup bottle the fire elemental set in place of a drink, does he hear subtle laughter from across the bar.

With more effort than he cares to admit, Sans turns his head and hazy eye lights land on you and your twin. No, wait, just you, he muses when his vision focuses and your double vanishes in clarity. This is… new? Like really new, he’s never seen you before in any of the timelines and his elbow nearly misses the counter when he tips forward. It’d be his luck to tumble straight off his stool and face plant into a new timeline the one time something different happens. There’s a steadying hand on his shoulder and he looks up into your face, brows knitted with concern. How did you get to him so fast? Wow, your hand is really warm.

“You were, kinda slow motion windmilling there, buddy,” you answer the unasked question and your hand draws away from him, taking the warmth with it. You don’t return to your own stool though, the concern still prominent as you drop into the open one next to him. Sans reclines and watches you lean forward as if waiting to catch him if he topples backwards.

“huh,” he says after a moment and picks up his glass, intently trying to focus on it, “guess i need work on that renewable energy plan a bit harder.” The blank look you give him is exactly what he waits for, “cause i’m such a big fan.” _that totally made sense, right? windmill? fan? note to self, no more jokes when drunk._

The muttered tsk under your breath is like manna from heaven as you roll your eyes at the terrible joke but the coy smile catapults him into jackpot town. He can’t get the jokes and puns out fast enough, snaring you into an hour long back and forth, leaving you both giggling like a couple of school yard kids learning their first swear. Somewhere amidst the guffaws and cackles, you offer him your name and he makes extra sure to list off all the puns he can name (heh) out of it. He returns with his and you struggle to find a good one in retaliation. He appreciates the effort.

“what did the skeleton say to the vampire?”

“You suck?” You offer, finishing off your third drink. Or was it your fourth? Sans has sort of lost track around his eighth. Grillby’s already cut him off and has to suffice with ketchup. Oh no, how will he ever survive. There’s a mischievous twinkle in his eye light and he sees you catch it.

“hey man, i respect your lifestyle and wont judge ya. also you suck.” There’s a pregnant pause before you give him a pity snort of laughter.

“That’s awful,” you say and suddenly your laughter is real and he can’t stop grinning like a damn fool. With an alcohol induced blush you excuse yourself to head home, stating you’ve had more than your fair share tonight.

“see you next friday?” It doesn’t sound pitifully hopeful to his non existent ears, nope, not at all. You smile and toss a _maybe_ over your shoulder before you’re out the door, leaving Sans leaning back on the bar, mandible tucked in the palm of his hand. There’s a quiet teasing snap of fire as Grillby sets a new ketchup container down. “aw, shut it, grillbz.”

He sees you next Friday and he’s armed with a whole new slew of jokes. You groan, sigh, roll your eyes and one time sneer at a particular bad one and he has to give you that. It was bad, even for him. But when you laugh, it’s the best fucking thing ever. The way you tilt your head up ever so slightly, the half lidded gaze and those laugh lines? Get out of town. He sees you another Friday and the Friday after that and by the third Friday, Papyrus makes an offhanded remark about having only to wake him up three times instead of the usual five.

He doesn’t know what to think. At first, it’s exciting. Someone new, something different to fill the monotony of the endless timelines, he doesn’t know what you’re going to do or say and the possibilities are endless. It dissolves into uncertainty, because he _doesn’t_ know you or what’s going to happen and suddenly the skeleton who knew everything is at a loss. The taste of too many bad timelines stick to his palate and he desperately tries to keep you at arms length. His Soul is having none of that.

Your weekly bar meet ups slowly transition to grabbing coffee after work a few nights a week and nice cream for the rest as you stroll around the local park to talk. It’s just talking, he tells himself. Eventually he introduces you to Papyrus. This is, probably, the biggest test in his eyes and they sparkle when he sits at the table and watches the two of you cook together, bumping shoulders and sharing quiet laughter. When Papyrus starts in on embarrassing stories of their youth, Sans break it up with a few poignant puns that leaves Papyrus comically fuming and you grinning back at him. Damn those laugh lines.

He’s not entirely sure when he fell for you. Maybe it’s the way you look at him, that subtle twitch of an eye after an especially bad pun or the unending patience and curious attentiveness you give him when he launches into a tangent about one of his umpteenth favorite subjects. You share his love of astronomy and he teases you about wanting to be an astronaut-paleontologist-storm chaser growing up. It could be the gentle tap of fingernails against bone as you work out a little ditty that’s been stuck in your head all day, the two of you quietly lounging on the sofa watching documentaries or awful action movies. You take turns quoting dramatic cliché lines before the character says it, unleashing a flurry of new cackles between you two. Or even possibly the way you shudder and arch beneath him, gasping his name like a prayer and the way you refuse to let him go while you sleep, chasing away the endless haunt of nightmares. He gets to selfishly watch you sleep, tracing a fingertip along the curve of your mouth, memorizing every little detail.

When he asks you to marry him, he’s sweating more than he ever did in any Genocide timeline and holds out the small blue box. He’s so nervous, he can’t quite open it and fumbles it gracelessly before shoving it into your hands. “Here,” he mumbles and rubs the back of his skull. You don’t believe him and give him a soft push and roll of your eyes but when he doesn’t move from his kneeling position, he can see the realization dawn in your eyes. You bowl him over in a hug and smother him in kisses.

Papyrus finds you both in a compromising position on the couch later and he yells at the both of you, exclaiming he _HAS TO SIT ON THE COUCH TOO AND WHAT WILL THE NEIGHBORS THINK, SANS?! THE WINDOW IS RIGHT THERE!_ He begrudgingly forgives you when you show him the ring and you’re both scooped up in a bear hug and well wishes. Your laughter is breathless and not just from the crushing hug of his brother and Sans doesn’t think your smile can be any more beautiful until you look at him. He kisses those damnable laugh lines. 

A tentative date is set in July and you call him a hopeless romantic, tangled up in each other limbs. Your heart and his Soul are still racing as you pull him into your arms, pressed tightly against your sternum until your respected organs (heh) settle down. That earns him a gentle slap on his arm and a roll of your eyes before you’re tucking his head under your chin and settle in for the night. A skeleton could get used to this.

The next morning rolls around and Sans is reluctant to wake, wanting nothing more than to waste the morning away cuddling. Phalanges meet tangled cold sheets and he stretches out to gather you in his arms before realizing you must have gotten up already. There’s the smell of breakfast wafting from the closed door and reluctantly Sans extricates himself from the rest of the bed sheets pulling up from the mattress and swings his feet over the edge only for them to clunk on the floor sooner than expected. What happened to his bedframe? Eye lights flicker to existence as he rubs a socket and everything is wrong.

His Soul stutters as he swings his head around, catching sight of the self sustaining tornado in the corner, the familiar collection of socks piled in the corner, his treadmill you had moved to the living room. _Sans, if you’re not going to use it, Pap and I will_. He stares at his dresser with the broken drawer you so proudly fixed and were so excited to show him. It hangs crookedly off its frame, mismatched clothing jammed until it spilled over. His room had never felt more colder, more empty. The old, familiar mattress threatens to swallow him and he howls and claws at his face, bone digging into bone and he can feel his HP drop in fractions. _no! no! no!_ It wasn’t fair! _why now?!_

He doesn’t hear Papyrus come in, worried shouts fall on deaf ears, even as his brother has to tug his hands away from his head and there’s the smell of dust in the air. Papyrus holds him, not understanding but offering soothing sounds as he rubs small circles into his spine. Sans sobs your name until he’s numb, tears streaking uselessly down his skull.

“SANS?” Papyrus is talking but he doesn’t answer. Why bother. “WHO’S…?” He says your name like it’s the first time he’s ever heard it. What did it really matter anyways? Sans clutches his brother’s shoulder and weeps tiredly.

Frisk look surprise to see him at the entrance of the Ruins. He’s off the game plan. Sans can only look at the kid shivering in the snow with a broken branch held in their hands, a lack of dust coating their clothes. “why frisk?,” he mutters brokenly, hands clenching so hard they creak in his pockets and he wants nothing more than to trace the laugh lines that curl around your lips.

“…why?”


	5. Foxtrot Folly - Mafiatale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m labeling this mafiatale, but I’m sorta smashing a lot of the gangster AUs together to create my own mish-mashed mess. This was a random snippet from a fanfic that I decided to never write. Fun fact, I engineered this particular scene backwards from the last couple of lines. This got so long; I don’t know how it happened. Most one shots probably won’t be this length.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Dub con, drug use, violence, language, alcohol, blood, death, jealous babus, everyone acts dumb; they’re all a bunch of dumb jealous babus.

This wasn’t where you figured you’d be spending your Friday morning but as the sun crested over the building top, shards of light slipping through boarded up windows, you couldn’t have picked a better place. The stale air of the supposed abandoned warehouse was cold and you could just make your breath out as you shrugged out of your jacket, leaving it to fall on the ground behind you. The resounding clap of your boots hit the cement ground as you charged forward toward the group of unknown gangsters you had interrupted unloading your Don’s shipment and into their truck. Behind you, your men followed at the unspoken command and chaos ensued.

Killing intent swelled around you and you dodged the flurry of bullets, magic and none, rolling to a kneeling stop just in front of a human. The blackjack was in your hand before he could track your path and you grinned at the satisfying crack of his kneecap as he collapsed. He had half a second to look up before you brought the club down. Grabbing his discarded gun, you tossed it to a fellow member before climbing back to your feet. Guns weren’t really your thing, despite your human status, and found you were much better with something tangible in your hands. Made fighting monsters and humans on equal playing grounds and that’s how you preferred it.

It was a contributing factor in being accepted into the Gaster Family, one out of a handful of humans allowed in. You had been surprised at the offer, Gaster’s two sons accompanying you as you numbly accepted, still reeling over the prospect. You never expected, even after the years of faithful service. Papyrus had welcomed you in with a firm handshake and welcoming smile that tugged at the identical scars his brother and father shared. G had slapped you so hard on your back, you nearly pitched forward and glared back at him, earning a chuckle and wink in reply. You barely had time to breathe before you were ushered out on your first assignment.

For months, Muffet’s gang had been growing ballsy, slipping in underneath your watch and stealing shipments, reselling them back at twice the cost. You’d been working closely with Papyrus on it, the sweeter of the skeleton duo, and it’d been you to notice it first. The discreet cough into the back of his hand, a sniffle or two into a handkerchief and the darkening lines of overworked magic underneath his sockets. He asked you not to tell his brother, but you ratted him out anyway. It was Papyrus, how could you not?

With Papyrus confined to firm bed rest, everything fell on your shoulders. G had been little help, finding he had the particular talent of not being around when needed. Typical. You had already made your rounds for the night, checking on Gaster’s warehouses before dismissing most of your men to get some sleep. The skeleton crew that remained behind had been handpicked by you, your most trusted men to do a second sweep. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Gaster’s people; it was more like you didn’t trust them completely. There was an absolute difference. Your suspicions had been confirmed with you found the guards on duty had been dusted, scattered across the ground without care.

You dropped a monster to the floor and kicked them sharply in the stomach, taking a minute of pleasure from their painful groan. Your eye was already starting to swell and it was going to be one nasty of a shiner by the end of the day. Shoving back your sweat slicked hair from your eyes, you felt a hand on your back, wrapping around the suspenders that kept your trousers up and violently yanked back. _Shit!_ You pivoted, swinging an elbow back and caught open air mid spin. There was no one behind you. A second later, a spray of bullets kicked up broken chunks of cement, dusting the fallen monster at your feet. That had been close.

The woman with the Tommy gun turned toward you, green eyes flaring in rage but caught your blackjack square in the face. Of course a human would be so careless to dust her own people. The fight was starting to wind down, it hadn’t been a large group to begin with and obviously they hadn’t been expecting you, by the lack of guards to cover the exits. The last few gang members were being taken care of and the unconscious were being collected to be interrogated later.

“Hey.” The wet sounding interjection made you pause and look down into the face of the… Shell Guy… Clam Man, you couldn’t remember his name and he tried to smile around his busted lip and broken teeth. There was crack running up the curved shell that surrounded his pearl shaped head, sprinkling dust as you hauled him up by the front of his torn shirt. “Is Papyrus all right?”

“He’s fine,” you gritted out and he looked genuinely relieved before you smashed your fist into his nose, dropping him when he went limp. Papyrus was the kind of guy to make even the opposing gang worry about him. You weren’t sure how they even knew and it’d be something to bring up with your Caporegime. Maybe you had another stoolie amongst your midst. Wouldn’t be the first time. You liked Jimmy, he had a self-deprecating humor you could appreciate.

“On your toes, kiddo.” G slipped past you, crowbar slick with a mix of blood and dust and he swung it with chilly efficiency, knocking back the snarling fox head ready to clamp down on you.

“Why?” It crooned, crashing to the floor in a heap.

“G!” you spat, climbing to your feet. Your hand throbbed with pieces of pearl imbedded in your knuckles. You could feel them dusting in you. “Where the hell have you been? Could have used you earlier.” 

“Sorry, sweetheart.” You didn’t need to see his face to know the smarmy grin in the easy draw of his voice. The skeleton gave a lazy wave over his shoulder and one of Muffet’s members flew across the warehouse, soul turned blue. “Been a bit busy.”

You snorted in annoyance and winced, rubbing the non-bleeding hand across your nose to wipe away some blood and succeeded in smearing it across your cheek. “I’m sure you have,” you sneered, refusing to let him off so easily. The irritating skeleton had been a thorn in your side all week, dodging duties left and right, undermining the occasional order you gave under the supervision of your Capo. You even complained once to Papyrus when you checked in on him with a small box of monster candy. He gave you a pat on the head, something you wouldn’t have accepted if it came from anybody but him, and reassured you Sans was a good monster. _HE, JUST, GOES PLACES SOMETIMES_. You weren’t sure what Papyrus had meant.

G chuckled and turned, tucking a hand on his cocked hip and a single yellow eye light narrowed briefly as he took in your battered state. You felt yourself straightening up under his scrutiny, forcing your heavy breath under control and frowned back. So what if you looked like you went through the ringer, these were some tough nuts to crack. The flickering eye light drifted downward, and then back up as if searching for something specific.

“What?” you snapped at him and he shrugged a shoulder before digging into a pocket and pulled out a crumpled cigarette package.  He held it out to you and when you didn’t move, he gave it a little bob indicating for you take one. You recognized the brand and sighed before accepting one, knowing you’d need the extra healing boost that came with anything monster made. The moment your fingers brushed against the package, G snatched your hand and jerked you forward. You always seemed to forget how tall the Gaster sons were until one was towering over you and G was crowding your personal space. You tried to jerk your hand back out of reflex but you only got the jolt of pain of wrenching your arm in an iron clad grip. You only just refrained from decking him, on account of his father and used your free hand to push at him.

“Fuck off,” you growled, earning you an amused huff of laughter.

“Elegant as always, doll face,” G muttered as he picked a fragmented piece of pearl from between your knuckles and held it up as it crumbled into dust. You caught his eye in the eerily round hole in his palm and he winked at you before placing his hand over the one you still had balled in his white dress shirt. The smug grin returned, tugging at the scars and you yanked your hand back again, this time slipping free of his grasp.

“Knock it off,” you grumbled, stepping away quickly to obscure the tinge of red in your cheeks and distractedly helped Nacarat to their feet who was struggling to stand. You leaned back as they swung their head in your direction and missed getting an curved horn in the face. It had been a good choice in letting them tag along, they were both agile and quick on their feet and damn near graceful with a roundhouse punch.

“Good job, buddy,” you gave due praise and their previous frown lifted. “Go help the others and let’s get back to Wing Dings.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

It hadn’t been the grand takedown you wanted but you weren’t going to turn down a night off. Gaster had been sharply pleased, if his softer than usual grimace was anything to go by, and when he told you to rest for the night, you were out of his office with a scuffling bow. You cleaned yourself up, frowned at the black eye, donned your cleanest outfit and made the trek to Grillby's.

Grillby’s was the perfect place to go, neutral ground amongst the Families and god help anyone who tried to start a fight here. If the fire monster didn’t toss your roasted corpse out of the bar, at least half a dozen patrons would and no one would bat an eye. You really tried not to groan when you sank down in the plush barstool but you did anyway, receiving a crackle of concern from the fire elemental. 

“I’m good, I’m good.” You waved away his concern and dug around your pant’s pocket before fishing out a piece of monster candy. Crunching on the distinctly not licorice sweet, you tucked your chin on an open palm and stared up at the wall of clear crystal bottles housing an assortment of alcohol. You were going to wake up with the best hangover, tomorrow. A glass of sparkling ice water was set in front of you and you smiled at the gesture before ordering a couple of drinks, letting Grillby pick and choose at his leisure.

Listening to the bar’s occupants behind you, you let the noise of chatter drift into a pleasant hum as you sipped on your rum and coke. There was a good band tonight, a trio of individuals, one on the drums, another at the piano while the singer belted her soul out to be heard above the crowds. There were a couple of poker games being played at the adjacent tables and you had to decline the offers to join, the canine regiment howling your name and banging the table in merriment. You sufficed them with a round of scratches and pets before excusing yourself. Tempting as it really was, you wanted to blow all your extra gold at the bar tonight.

 “How’s Fuku?” You filled the evening with idle chitchat with Grillby, enjoying the quiet banter of bartender and patron camaraderie. It was something you had come to cherish over the years, the one place of solitude and safety you allowed yourself. You were pretty sure everyone felt like this here but it was so rare to have and you would covet it until the day you left this sad rock behind.

Grillby placed the last drink in front of you and you grinned at the whisky sour before taking a sip. There was a subtle difference between monster made and human made alcohol, the subtle difference being you could handle the human shit. You were sitting a little more hunched, resting your weight further on the bar’s rich wooden countertop and leisurely tried to tie the cherry stem into a knot with your tongue. Grillby watched amusedly as you scrunched your face and frowned in serious concentration before spitting out a chewed up stem sans knot. “Grillby, give me a couple more, I think I got it this time.” A crackle and an entertained shake of his head, he turned around to pluck a few more maraschino cherries from a jar. 

Popping the next one in your mouth, you snapped the stem off, chewed quickly and gave a cheery, “Thanks.” Catching the stem between with your teeth, your eyes hazed out with another round of absolute determination that you were going to tie the next one in a neat little bow. Just as you were about to loop the soggy, stringy mess, an all too familiar rich lazy drawl of a voice drifted over to you. Your eyes immediately cut to your left and landed on G and a stir of annoyance broke through your comfortable inebriation, settling in your chest with a confusing heaviness. 

G hadn’t changed his clothing from that morning; there was still speckles of blood along his collar from when you had yanked your currently healing hand from his grasp. Though he had opted for a gaudy red tie and the long sleeves of his shirt cuffed up to his elbow, exposing the pearlescent bone in the low, hazy light of the bar. You were reminded of Clam Guy; that was his name, and hoped you hadn’t hit the guy too hard. You never struck with killing intent but it was a fine line for humans and it could be hard to skirt around.

Sometimes, you forgot G was a skeleton based monster, skull lacking the usual rigor you’d expect from a, well, skull. He smiled easily at the drunken bunny attached to his side, a casual arm slung over her shoulders as she giggled up at him. He reached across the counter to shake Grillby’s hand and gestured to the bunny, indicating for her to order something. She leaned against him and pouted before he swept his hat off his head and plopped it atop hers, giving a playful tug over her eyes. Her ears twitched and she broke into peals of laughter. There was lipstick on her teeth.

You rolled your eyes and downed the rest of your drink, crunching nosily on the ice and swirled the wilted lemon rind along the bottom. Another sharp round of laugher drew your attention and stilled when you caught G’s eye. He held your gaze for the longest heartbeat before winking and bent down to catch the bunny off guard in a kiss. His hand cupped the back of her head, fingers carding through the soft ruffled fur as she melted against him, hat slipping from her hands. He caught it with deft fingers before it could fall and casually set it on the bar without breaking the kiss.

You scoffed, a little too loudly and shoved another cherry in your mouth. _Annoying, stupid, asshole of a skele_ \- A brilliantly colored drink filled with floating fruit and an umbrella was set down in front of you and you looked up at Grillby. “I didn’t order this.”

“Less teeth, more tongue, honey,” a low, husky voice answered and a young woman with the prettiest green eyes and black hair settled into the barstool next to you, smiling sweetly. “And we did.” She crossed her legs at the knee, flashing a quick peek of a black lacy garter belt where the heavy slit in her red dress parted and covered it demurely with a hand. On your opposite, a red skinned monster who could have passed for a distant cousin of Nacarat’s settled his large, muscular frame into the stool and you had to congratulate the inanimate object for holding steady. The monster flashed you a dazzling grin of sharp, intimidating teeth but there was nothing but warmth behind it. He was careful of his horns as he shifted and none to careful about the muscular bicep he propped on the counter.

“We?” You glanced back at the woman.

“We,” she tipped her chin prettily toward the monster. “Noticed you sitting here by yourself and thought you looked a little lonely.”

“Jessica,” he snorted, “By we, she means herself has been staring at you all night.”

“Creepy.”

“That’s what I said,” he teased the woman, Jessica, who had the courtesy to look sheepish. “I’m Oni.” The monster offered his hand in a shake and it dwarfed yours. “And I have to admit, when Jessie pointed you out, I couldn’t help myself from taking a gander, either.”

A cynical guffaw slipped from you, “Right.” You reached for the new drink, the overly bright blue and purple swirls charming you and you took a tentatively sip. Wow, that was sweet and absolutely delicious. “Whoa, this is really good.”

“Isn’t it?” Jessica flagged down Grillby to bring her another, glass already emptied. “It’s my absolute favorite, I can’t get enough of them.”

“Not me,” Oni said, picking up his short round glass. “Straight whisky is the best. Though, sometimes I like it on the rocks.” He eyed you over the glass before knocking it back in one gulp.

“R-right.” You stared into your drink, poking the straw at the raspberries and blueberries floating along the top and willed away the heat in your cheeks. You were a little drunker than you thought if you were making innuendos out of a harmless drink preference. Jessica giggled softly and placed her hand atop of your knee. “Uh…” Totally harmless stranger touching.

“Oh, honey, that’s a nasty shiner you got there.” The hand trailed up your thigh before lofting to gently cup your cheek. Jessica carefully skirted around the dark bruising under your eye and before you could pull away, she leaned forward to press a gentle kiss along your cheek, leaving a hint of red lipstick behind that you were sure matched your straight blush.

“T-thanks. For the drink, I mean!” Not for the kiss because that was weird, you’re weird. You occupied yourself with your drink, scooping it up to bring it closer and stared forward, gaze flittering to the wall of drinks and in the reflection of the glass, you realized you had the attention of G. The single yellow eye light was a blazing beacon, burning against the starkness of bone. The usual cheeky grin replaced with a grim line that cut across his face and his focus narrowed accusingly.

You turned to look at him with a frown already falling into place but he was smiling down at the bunny draping herself over him, catching her under the chin with a light brush of his fingers. It sent her into exaggerated giggles. You chugged the rest of your drink, teeth gnashing on the fruit that got in the way before you set the glass down with a thunk.

“You all right, honey? You’re giving that lovely bartender a frightful look.”

You hadn’t realized you were glaring at Grillby, though your attention hadn’t been on him. “Sorry, sorry,” you repeated, looking at the fire elemental who only shook his head as he set down another blue colored drink in front of you. No offense was taken. “I was thinking about… something stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

Oni leaned a little closer to you and he smelled like smoky embers, not quite campfire like Grillby, but definitely nice. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see G staring again. What kind of bullshit was he playing? “Maybe,” Oni’s baritone voice reverberated in your ear, drawing your attention back to him and enjoy the soft rumble you felt from his magic. “We can do something about that.” You took a slow sip of your drink and could feel Jessica’s hand again, trailing a finger is swirling patterns though your pants leg. Your red cheeks made them both back off a little, sharing a quiet laugh and look.

As you finished your drink, the two introduced themselves at a much slower pace. Oni worked down at the steel mill and Jessica was a cocktail waitress for MTT resort. They had met on a blind date their friends set up and hit it off immediately. You gave some vague response of working a lot of jobs, giving your name finally and feeling silly you hadn’t introduced yourself properly. It had been a long time, you thought, having a real conversation that didn’t revolve around work. It was actually nice, really nice. The alcohol was helping but you couldn’t remember the last time you felt this relaxed around anyone. You were still laughing over a terrible punch line Oni delivered when a lazy drawl behind you interrupted and you tensed. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment?”

You looked up to meet G’s gaze in the mirror but he kept his gaze hooded, staring at the back of your head. Both Oni and Jessica pulled away to give you space and you admittedly missed it. You took a long exaggerated sip of your drink before setting it down. “No. I’m a little busy with my frie- Hey!” You were yanked backwards off the stool, only kept upright by the strong grip on your bicep as G dragged you away.

What the hell, G?!” You yanked your arm away and nearly stumbled into the corner of the bar, placing you between the couple and the drunk bunny who didn’t make the effort to act like she wasn’t listening in. “What’s your problem?”

“What are you doing.”

It was the fact it sounded more like an accusatory statement than a question that made you falter and you glared up at the monster, crossing your arms, fingers tightening in the material as you wobbled slightly. “Hoping to get felt up by a really forward duo.” The brisk answer threw him and you careened on, “What do you care?”

The single eye light drifted for a second, unfocused. “I don’t like them,” he muttered simply.

_I don’t like…_

“Who the hell cares what you don’t like,” you hissed back at him. “It’s none of your damn business anyways. Why are you even here?” You made a show of looking around. “Shouldn’t you be looking in on Papyrus? Or do you not care?”

There was a snap of magic in the air, sharp and tangy that left your soul feeling heavy. His yellow eye light flared brightly, like a golden flame housed in the empty socket, licking the edges threatening to spill out. You knew it was a cheap shot and hoped Papyrus would forgive you for using him. There was a distinct clearing of a crackling throat behind you and G leaned back, eye light blinking back to normal and grin cemented in place and just like that, the air was clear. The tenseness in his shoulders melted away and you got a hand on a cocked hip while Grillby got an innocent wink.

“I get it now.” He eased out a breathy chuckle. “It’s cute.”

“What?” You refrained from rubbing your chest to ease some of the residual heaviness and instead tightened your folded arms further.

“This.” He gestured between the two of you and you stared at him blankly. “This little act. It’s cute, desperate, but cute.” The noise that came out of you was definitely not a squawk. “It’s okay to be jealous, baby. Always figured you for a bit of a bluenose.”

“I am, most certainly _not_ jealous of you. You… boob.” You’d blame the alcohol for your less than stellar name-calling later. “Listen here, punk.” You borrowed the next best insult you could think of, finding it didn’t sound as harsh coming from you then it did the famous aquatic mobster. By his smirk, it didn’t hold the same merit either. Jabbing your index finger in his face and pointed with deadly precision, you were sure he was going to bite it off by the harsh split of his grin. “Whatever fantasy you got going on in that empty skull of yours, better break it up.” 

“No fantasy,” he countered, raising an eye ridge and your attention was diverted for a fraction, still curious how bone could move like that before you were back to bristling at his simple contrary.

“Yes, fantasy. You’re so full of yourself, G. I don’t know how you—” You ground out the rest of your sentence into a frustrated growl. You were treading on dangerous ground again and despite your dislike of the skeleton, he was the son of your Don. “Leave me alone, G, I’m having fun. These people are talking to me or can your bloated ego not understand that?” So much for careful treading, you decided to belly flop into that landmine.

The singer ended the last of her song on a high and the bar erupted in whistles and claps, encouraging her to continue on.

G gave a careless roll of his eye light. “Why would anyone be interested in you?”

Had you the present mind, you probably would have gasped. You know the lapine monster did before she busied herself with sudden interest in the far wall. “You… I… Go back to your honey bunny!” You spun around sharply, nearly lurching into the bar and only caught yourself with as much dignity you could muster. You missed the outstretch of a skeletal hand to steady you and marched back to your stool, sitting down with a heavy thump.

You were grateful Oni and Jessica had remained, unsure of how you’d feel coming back to an empty spot after that. Not that you could blame them. God, what if they overheard G. You groaned and refrained from dropping face first into the bar’s countertop.

“Oh my.” Jessica she pushed a fresh blue drink toward you, giving the straw a little stir. “Who was your handsome friend?”

“He’s **not** my friend.” You replied, flatly and watched a bead of condensation slip down the curved glass.

“But he is handsome,” Oni murmured, smiling as G settled back into his stool, watching the three of you again. You were not going to answer that. “Do you know him?”

“He’s… a coworker. We work down in the fish market.” At least you still had half the mind to concoct a fib. Despite Grillby’s being a neutral zone, you kept your connection with Gaster’s Family on the down low for safety reasons. You didn’t need to put anyone in unnecessary danger, least of all yourself. Still, you hated to lie and it tasted bitter and you swallowed it with a large gulp of your drink. The bitterness remained and you finished half of it in another hard swallow.

Jessica’s hand returned to your knee and she moved forward to lean on it to bring her lips back to your cheek where a spot of her lipstick still remained. She hummed as she trailed downward to the crook of your neck and inhaled slowly, eliciting a shiver. “Mmm, you smell too good for the markets,” she breathed and left another smear of lipstick along your collarbone. You didn’t know when she undid the top button of your shirt but you certainly weren’t going to complain. Especially when Oni repeated the gesture, stubble scratching playfully against your jaw and you brought a hand up to catch the side of his head to keep him there. His chuckle was warm against your skin and you tilted your head, letting your eyes flutter close and the bars sounds wash over you in a haze. The singer had started up again, a much slower sweeter song that you could hear the pulse of magic behind it, matching the tempo of your heartbeat.

“Wow,” you sighed and opened your eyes. He should have been the furthest thing from your thoughts, but you couldn’t help but glance in G’s direction to find the bar empty of both him and his girl. Good. That good didn’t feel as good as you wanted and you pawed for your cup.

“I think you’ve had enough.” Oni reached for the nearly empty glass and you snatched it away with clumsy fingers, draining it and Jessica caught the droplet of blue that slipped down your chin with a brush of her thumb and you watch her pop it into her mouth, lips curling into a knowing smile as she met your gaze as she drew it away slowly. A low moan slipped from you, much to your horror and you all but buried your face in your hands.

“I think you’re right,” you muttered, hoping your hands covered enough of the furious glow. Were you that starved for attention? You lost track of many drinks you had tonight, you had four of your own before the terrible two showed up and there had been another three? Four? Shit, if you could count anymore. Numbers were slowly becoming an abstract thought and that last drink wasn’t sitting quite right. You knew you should have probably eaten something before you came here, but hindsight was a useless tool.

“You look like you could use a cup of Joe.”

You weren’t sure which one said that, the steady rhythmic thump of the band’s drummer was falling out of sync with your heartbeat into a low throb against your temples. “Yeah,” you conceded.

“Would you,” that was Jessica now because she was peeling your hands from your face, soft delicate fingers wrapping around your weathered ones. You refused to look away from the myriad of alcohols along the wall, making patterns of different earth tone hues. “Like to come back to our place for one?”

And there it was. Wow. Did you say that out loud? You did? Shit. You also said that out loud. Shit. You shifted and felt Oni bring a broad hand up to steady you to turn toward Jessica. She was smiling again, beautiful green eyes sparkling in amusement. They were really pretty.

“Thank you, honey.”

Shit again. You didn’t trust yourself anymore and resorted to shaking your head. That was a mistake and Jessica blurred into several and you felt yourself tipping over, only held up Oni’s careful hand and you wanted nothing more than to lean back against him. “Sorry,” you slurred, “sorry. I think… I’m really drunk. I don’t think… I’d be any fun. “ You were going to have a long conversation with sober you in the morning.

“You sure?”  

God, no. If you said that out loud, neither brought it to your attention. 

“Next time then, honey.” And Jessica was slipping her hands from yours to brush back a few locks of hair over your ear and straighten your shirt. She redid the button and tugged on it lightly to pull you forward and you flailed a hand briefly, catching her along the waist to keep from banging into her as she whispered, “I’d hate for you to miss out on a good cup of coffee.”

“Can we at least call you a taxi?” Oni offered.

“Please. That…” you tried to straighten with little success, not that Jessica was helping with twirling a finger through your hair. “w-would be great, thanks.”

Oni left a little reluctantly and Jess went to grab her coat, only making sure you would be okay for the five seconds it would take her. The crackling heat of fire drew your attention and you had to hang onto the bar to keep from teetering over to face the bartender. You squinted at his brightness and had to concentrate on the monster language as he murmured his concern.

“Thanks, Gribbles,” you tried to smile up at him, hoping you at least didn’t look like you were grimacing at him again. His flames were curling around his head in dizzying patterns. “O… Ooo…” you trailed off, unable to remember the monster’s name. Good thing you were going home to sleep this off. “Gettin’ me a taxi. Imma, fine. Fine... fiiine… ffff…” The word didn’t sound right no matter how many times you said it and you would have still been stuck on it, if Jessica hadn’t intervened. She tugged on her black coat, pulling her loose hair from the collar and pulled a few gold coins from her small clutch purse to cover the drinks.

That’s really nice of you, was what you meant to say. Instead, you tried not to vomit on her shoes and only made a garbled sound that didn’t sound a thing like you. It felt like the drummer was using your head directly to beat out the droning rhythm.

Jessica tittered, throwing an apologetic look toward Grillby. “Let’s get you on your feet, honey.” A hand came up under your arm, urging you to stand and you tried only to stumble over your own weight forcing you to throw an arm around the woman and you nearly took the both of you down. “Oof, you’re a lot heavier than I thought. Little piggy, aren’t you?” Her arm came down to wrap around your waist, fingers digging sharply into your side.

You made a questioning sound and your brow puckered but Oni was there in front of you, hauling you painfully up to stand on your feet, supporting you like you weighed nothing at all. His grip was much stronger, squeezing you roughly and you let out a pained grunt to get your thoughts across. It went ignored of favor of the two’s hushed whispers over your head.

“You used too much.”

“Don’t start, Oni.”

You didn’t like this feeling at all, but the budding discomfort waned just as fast as it sprung up, lost in the distraction of the bar’s local chatter. Desperation clawed at you, self preservation kicking in and you struggled against the vice like grip, unsure of why you were here in the first place. Hadn’t you been arguing with Grillby? No, no, why would you argue with the bartender? Where were you going, again? Oni was hauling you forward, grip hard enough to leave bruises and your feet shuffled numbly, boots scraping along the hard wood flooring. Jessica pressed against your side, laughing loudly and you were smiling in reply, unsure of what was so funny. The canine regiment hooted and hollered at you as you passed by and Jessica waved cheerily, throwing a cheeky, “Don’t wait up for us,” over her shoulder.

Didn’t they see you frowning? This wasn’t what you wanted. No, you were going home, weren’t you? The jolt of the freezing night air gave you a moment of lucidity to realize you were outside the bar being dragged down the street. When had your legs stopped working? Oni’s arm was completely wrapped around your middle and you clutched at him, trembling fingers struggling to hold on and whether to push or pull him closer, you couldn’t decide. The musky perspiration beading on his neck was nauseous, previous smoky scent giving way to a sulfuric brimstone, you wondered how you didn’t notice it before.

“Where’s the car?”

“In the alley. I’m not stupid, Jessie.”

That seemed like a different place for the taxi to be parked. You were crossing the street in the cover of a flickering streetlight and suddenly your world was turned head over heels as you were tossed unceremoniously over Oni’s shoulder, making your progress suddenly faster. The ground swayed in your vision, arms dangling useless and the pressure on your stomach didn’t help your already queasy state. You must have made an awful retching sound because you were immediately dumped onto the ground beside a set of car tires. You crumpled like a paper doll, unable to break your fall. Your left arm twisted painfully underneath you and tasted blood where your mouth and nose smashed roughly into the rough road.

“Fuck!” Oni growled and his shoes shuffled into your vision, turning around.

“What?”

“Piece of shit threw up on me. I told you it was too much. You never listen.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry about it? You’re not the one smelling like a goddamn brewery!” You were hauled up by the back of your shirt and swung around to be set on your feet. Your legs gave out immediately unable to support yourself and a large red hand wrapped around your throat, shoving you harshly against an unforgiving metal surface and felt something jab you in the lower back.

“Oni! Stop!” Jessica’s delicate hands were pulling at the red one, driving you into the unrelenting side of a car. “If you kill ‘em before we get a chance to interrogate, this’ll be for naught.”

You weren’t in the alley anymore, because this was all some terrible drunken, boozy dream cooked up from the morning’s events. Grillby was probably standing over you, shaking his head as you slept atop his bar. Maybe he’d let you rent one of the rooms above it. You should go apologize, if it weren’t for how wooly your head was, forming a solid thought was taking longer and longer and every time you grasped at a word, it slipped through to vanish into the smothering darkness edging into your vision. You were starting to float now, confirming your dream feelings and hoped you’d float back to your body.

“Fine.” The demon let go of your neck and your body reflexively inhaled, the mere act felt like you were taking in shards of glass. With the last of your willpower, your right arm lurched upward and thumped pointlessly against the hand now pressed against your chest to keep you from kissing the ground again. It felt like he could cave you inward with the gentlest of pressure and you wondered if you’d just disappear then.

“Got a little fight left in you, huh?” Oni chuckled darkly. “You wont after Muffet’s done with you.” He turned to Jessica. “You take care of this and I’ll drive.”

“Ew, no.”

“Tough shit.” Oni opened the back door of the black Bentley and effortlessly tossed you in backwards. Your hip caught the seat, the back of your head clipping the other door and your vision exploded in color and light and you landed in an awkward heap on the floor, a car mat digging into your side. You tasted more blood, a sweet copper and there was no telling where it came from. Something slick dripped down your neck, licked away by the collar of your shirt.

Jessica followed, climbing into the spacious back of the vehicle and sat as far away from you as she could. The car dipped under the monster’s weight as he slid into the driver’s seat and the uncomfortable floor rumbled as the engine started and the reality of the situation finally hit you. The tight control you kept over yourself buckled and you caved, eyes wide and nose flaring as you dragged air into your lungs, preparing yourself for a fight. Nothing obeyed. 

Grumbling, Jessica nudged you with the toe of her red heels before raising it to stomp down on your ankle, a weak sound you couldn’t contain slipped through gritted teeth. “Still awake?” She crawled into your vision hovering over you, pretty green eyes smoldering dangerously. “Good. I got something to give you. From my sister.” She reared back and punched you square in the jaw and your vision whited out. Pain was fleeting before it too was swallowed up by the numbing static that clouded your mind. You were barely aware of the vehicle turning around a corner, shifting you to roll awkwardly back and forth.

You were ready to give in to the haze of nothing but the slow pulse of passing streetlights felt like a steadying heartbeat, creating prolonged flashes that seemed to stretch on. Slow tremors were building with each shuddering breath as the numbness in your limbs moved inward, creeping like a stalking predator you couldn’t do a thing about. If it reached your lungs, your heart, your Soul, what would happen? Your voice caught in another strangled breath as the icy chill of helpless fear crawled along your flushed skin.

“He was right, you know.” Jessica leaned back in the seat and examined her hand, giving it a slow shake to ease the pain and rubbed along her knuckles. She’d been wearing a large ring.

You had to escape, you had to move, take a tumble right out of the moving car and hightail it out of there.

She glared at your prone body before digging around in her purse, pulling out a thin rectangular case. “Why would anyone want you?” She pulled a cigarette from it, tapping it lightly and lit it, snapping the lighter closed with a purposeful click.

In the ebbing and fading moments of clarity, your frantic willing did nothing. Your heart was a piece of lead, thudding sluggishly in odds to your rapid breathing. You couldn’t speed or slow down either and it was only making you more nauseous.

“No ones going to miss you.” She took a slow drag, leaned forward and blew it into your face before she flopped back with a smug grin. “We walked right out of there and no one batted an eye.” Jessica flicked the ash from the glowing end and as if struck with a wonderful idea, pressed the cherry end to your arm and it sizzled. It was a pulse of red, brief, hot and lingered in waves. Your body didn’t flinch, giving her the reaction she wanted. She frowned and sat back, folding one arm across her chest and crossed her legs. You watched, trapped, from the corner of your eye.

“I always wondered what this stuff would do to a human. Bet you’re wondering why you can’t move?” Jessica brought the cigarette back to her mouth and blew another puff of smoke in your direction and gave a wiggle of fingers at you, serpentine in movement and it stole all of your focus, missing her words. “Magic. Or rather magic laced ketamine. Slipped it right into your drink and with you angrily stewing over your boyfriend, it was too easy.” She paused to take another drag, tracing the edge of her thumb across her bottom lip.

“That stuffs nasty on it’s own, but you toss in a little abracadabra, hocus pocus and poof, no more magic. Not that humans have any, but this wasn’t designed for us normal folks.” She eyed the back of Oni’s head with nothing but distain before returning to yours. “I call it a Monster Finn. I’d ask you how you’re feeling, but I know you can’t talk or move. How’s that working for you?” Jessica paused long enough as if giving you the opportunity to talk. “Here’s the fun part, you’re going to be awake for a very long time. You’re going to hear everything, feel everything we do to you,” she ran her heel against you bruised ankle, brushing up the cuffed edge. “And remember every little detail.”

“You and your little sad band of merry idiots have caused Muffet a lot of trouble. If only you just accepted Dings is a pitiful excuse for a Don and stayed in your lane, you wouldn’t be here. His sons are certainly no better, by the by, how is Papyrus? I heard he’s been sick and it’d be a shame if something were to happen to him.” You couldn’t see her smug smile. “You were right, G is full of himself, always has been. Can’t even see past his whistling nose hole.”

Jessica clucked her tongue, putting her cigarette out on a new part of your arm and leaned forward back into your line of vision. “Aww, there’s no need to cry.” You hadn’t realized you were, vision blurring further. “Don’t take it personally honey, its just business.”

The squeal of tires and sudden lurch of the vehicle sent Jessica slamming forward into the back of the front seat. She collided hard without the aid of a seatbelt at the same time you rolled sharply into it and the screech of metal filled your ears, drowning out sound. With your face pressed against leather, you could only hear the grind of gears being shifted in panic and the smell of burning rubber as tires squealed and locked in place. The back window exploded in a shower of shards to rain down on you.

Jessica was just pushing herself up, blood pouring from her busted nose before she was snatched back by a harsh force, pinning her back against the seat. She made an odd, garbled choke before the vehicle lurched forward this time but it was shifting oddly, spinning tightly in a circle until it slammed sideways into a light pole, caving in the opposite door you were squashed again. Jessica landed atop of you, heavy and suffocatingly still. There was an unfamiliar warmth that spread across your chest and something jabbed you harshly and you realized by smell alone, it was blood.

From somewhere above you Oni groaned, his heavy weight shifted the car as he moved and you wondered why he wasn’t a pile of dust yet. Another shriek of metal pierced through your thoughts, impossibly louder this time and it was like a white knife being wedged behind your eyes, sharp and brittle, certain it was going to split your head in two. The car groaned in protest as it was lifted until the roof was torn away, slamming the massive car back down to solid ground. Jessica’s body shifted, smothering you, stealing away the last of your air. Whatever jabbed you was pressing further into your ribs, threatening to tear cloth and skin, pinning you like a bug on display. 

The feel of summoned magic around you was sharp and tangy, metal and bone and there was a build up terrifying power that shook the car, rattling it right off the axis. A tire blew with an explosive bang and the vehicle sagged further and the white knife twisted more until your vision was nothing but emptiness. You could feel your blood pumping through your body, erratic and flighty, vastly different from its sluggish pace and it was fear that overwhelmed you, lancing you through the Soul. You tried to slow your breath but the hysteria got the better of you and you couldn’t get enough air in you and you finally let the light swallow you whole.

 

~*~*~*~*~

  

It’s the sound of a radio playing that stirred you back to the land of the living. The splitting headache that pounded between your ears kept you from moving. God, how long had you been asleep? You don’t remember crashing but the deep ache that settled in your bones told you not very long. Looked like you were going to have to have a reign check with sober you. It took you several long moments to will your eyelids open and immediately slammed them shut at the nauseating wave of dizziness. If you had anything left in your stomach, you were sure you would have done more than just quietly gag. After a quiet moment to still yourself, you opened your eyes again and you’re instantly awake.

You weren’t in your room. Uncertainty crawls up your spine in prickly wariness. The unfamiliar ceiling fan spins lazily above you, chain clinking rhythmically as it rocked off base. You go to sit up and nothing happened. You tried again and your body wouldn’t respond. There’s no way you’re that hung over that you can’t get out of bed? Bed. You can feel the scratchy wool blanket rumpled underneath your body, gathered in a bunch beneath your back because a part of it digs into bare skin. The wariness becomes ice in your chest as you realize you’re not wearing a stitch of clothing. There’s something light over you but it’s just barely covering the essentials, leaving your skin to pebble from both the cool air and the unaccustomed vulnerability you feel.

Your eyes snap to the left and you can just make out the top of a window, curtains swaying thickly. To your right it’s just a wall with darkly patterned wallpaper in some sort of antique print. A clock ticks somewhere near where the radio statics in and out, a sketchy song playing from an old record. You strain your gaze as far as you can, darting back and forth, unable to recognize anything. Below you, muffled indistinct noises drift upward and there’s a louder shuffling coming from the arched open doorway of the bedroom. You try again to move, grunting quietly and you really can’t feel your arms and legs and your chest is nothing but a numb tomb for the fluttering heart trying to escape your ribcage.

The shuffling gets closer and then backs off and someone’s talking quietly, mumbling to themselves or another person, you can’t tell. Why were you here? Why were you naked? There’s a long gap in your memory that you can’t place. You were… you were at Grillby’s, drinking. Yeah, that sounded right. You drank a lot. Not your proudest moment and then you went home. No. That wasn’t it. You went outside. Smokey embers smell, pretty green eyes, sharp and bitter, burning, shrieking glass. You shuddered violently, wanting nothing more to curl into yourself but you were exposed, stretched out on your back. _I-I don’t want this! No, I don’t want to go with you._ Bruising hands all over you, soft kisses against your neck. Why was no one helping? Couldn’t they see? Where are we going? I don’t want. Muffet. MUFFET!

Panic was churning inside you, fight or flight instinct stripped away with your inability to move, you were freezing, flushed, the room was starting to spin with the ceiling fan and you panted quickly. Not enough air, can’t breathe, no, get off! Get-

“Kiddo?” Your vision went white, death incarnate loomed over you in a broken, crackled skull, a single eye boring into you in yellow flames. “Shit. I was hoping to finish this up before you came around.” Death was talking to you in a comforting, familiar, lazy drawl but instead of a rigid grin, the lines of his skull were turned down in a frown, softening features into an almost human like façade.

“Hey, hey,” Death’s voice took on an even softer tone, gentle and unhurried. “You need to calm down before you hyperventilate. You’re okay. You’re safe, now. Take a deep breath.” He tried to demonstrate but as Death, it didn’t have the desired effect. “Let it out. Come on now, where’s my grumpy doll at?”

Doll. The stupid nickname triggered something in you and Death was replaced with, G? You blinked a few times and the skeleton monster was leaning over you, his hip pressed against yours from where he sat perched on the edge of the bed. He must have seen something in your eyes because the relaxed grin surfaced. “There you are, sweetheart. You with me now? Lets try slowing that breathing of yours. In,” he inhaled and you stared back when he exhaled loudly in a shaky laugh he hid behind a cough.

“Yeah, I get it. Try this.” He held his hands in front of you, palms pressed together. “In,” he spread them slowly, “Out.” And brought them back together. “In,” he repeated and you watched a couple of times before realizing he wanted you to match your breathing with his tempo. It took several long struggling minutes, twice falling into a panic attack when you couldn’t settle down but G was patient, guiding you back until you were breathing normal. He dropped his hands and leaned back, the jut of his hip poking you again and you could just make out the top of his skull and the hand that swept over it in the façade of brushing back hair.

“It was Muffet’s people.” He said quietly, reserved. “I guess word got back to her about your takedown this morning and she sent some goons after you. I didn’t see them…” The bed rocked as he stood, coming into full view for half a second before he was stalking away. You thought he had left until he spoke again. “Fuck, if I hadn’t had been so…” he muttered quietly, gibberish sounds to your ear and there was a sudden bang against the wall and the crumble of plaster hitting the wooden floor. “They put something in your drink.” You wished he would sit back down where you could see him. “I – I couldn’t see it, why couldn’t I see it? We, I almost missed it. Fucking variables, fucking up everything.”

You’d never heard the normally composed skeleton so harried and you wondered if this was what Papyrus had meant when he said G went places. You let him rant to himself, unable to do little else. It gave you time to collect yourself, regroup your scattered thoughts and push through the awful migraine. Pain was good though, pain helped you think clearly. A good learning experience. You wanted to call him back to you and instead had to wait your time out before he flopped back on the bed with a flounce. He fiddled with the sheet wrapped around you, rolling it between his fingers. “If the dogs hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have seen the car. I wouldn’t…”

“I killed them.” He said dully. “There was so much blood, I didn’t know what was yours and hers. Whatever they gave you, it, it almost killed you. If it hadn’t been for Grillby.” He hovered back into your line of sight, leaning his weight on the hand he pressed near your shoulder and searched your gaze for a flicker of a reaction and you winked back at him, earning a snort. “Did you know he’s quite the talented healer? Cheeky bastard’s been holding out on us. He thinks the paralysis will wear off by tomorrow and you’re going to have one killer of a headache, if you don’t already.” 

That was an understatement. “You were a mess. I was in the middle of cleaning you up before you interrupted me taking advantage of you.” You really wanted to punch him. Asshole took a perfectly fine moment and had to ruin it with his dickery. If you could have thanked him, you would. You shifted your gaze around and he caught on. “We’re above Grillby’s, I rent a room here and figured this was as safe as any other place.”

G reached for something out of your vision but you heard the slosh of water as he wrung out a warm washcloth and lifted your arm to set it across his lap, before running the cloth tenderly over it. It felt like fire and your eyes rolled up before closing. “Healing was never my forte, but never hurts to try.”

He gingerly pressed his palm against your wrist and you felt a burst of warmth, magic being pushed roughly to mend the bruised flesh. “How’s that? Wait, hang on uh, blink once for yes and twice for no? Does that work for you?” You blinked once and G grinned. “Good. I need to make sure I have your consent before I ravish you.” You blinked twice. “Oh, double yes, saucy minx you.” _Asshole_. “Pretty sure I can read your mind, doll and that’s not nice.” _Well, too fucking bad_. “Better?” _A little_. “I’m guessing a slow blink still means yes.” _Yes_.

“Grillby got those burns, but these other ones.” The healing magic petered out and you, honestly didn’t feel much of a difference but the gesture was appreciated. He traced a finger along a raised scar down your forearm before finishing with the rag. “These are too old to heal.” He dunked it into the bowl of water, tinting it pink and wrung it out again. “I’m assuming you don’t care.” _No_.

“Since I have you at my mercy, I’m letting you know the Families are aware of what happened tonight. Muffet’ll claim innocence but it’s going to put her in bad form with the others for a while. Serves her right.” G moved to your other arm, cleaning the rest of the dried brown blood briskly and you didn’t squint at the roughness. “In the meantime, you get to stay at my place till you’re back on your feet. Pap would have a conniption if I didn’t keep an eye on you personally.” _Yes he would_. “I had to practically tie him to his bed to keep him from coming over here.” _That sounded like him_. 

The water in the bowl was becoming murkier and G paused long enough for you to blink at him. _Yes?_ You watched his one his eye light flicker briefly as he twisted the cloth tightly, water dripping down his arms. He was still wearing the clothes from that morning, your blood adorning the collar in faint speckles. There was the addition of dust along his front, mixed with more rusty, dried brown stains in an odd pattern that if lined up would match the shape of your body being carried.

“Grillby didn’t find any extra bruising or t…” His silence was heavy as if unsure of how to continue. “Did they…”

_No_.

“Okay.” He nodded, absently, and pushed his bloodied sleeves further up his elbow. “Okay. Then, this next part’s just going to be a little awkward. For you. I’m going to personally enjoy this while I can. Always wanted to see what was under the hood. Better suck in those abs, I don’t impress easily.” With little finesse, G pulled back the sheet to bath the rest of you and it was as noninvasive and as quick as he had cleaned your arms.

You couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and spilling down the sides of your face. What the hell was wrong with you? You’d been hit harder than Jessica ever could. So what if you couldn’t move, fight back or defend yourself. It took hearing your name a third time before you realized you’d scrunched your eyes shut and felt the warmth of bone cupping your cheek.

“Hey, hey, don’t go back there. You’re okay. You’re safe now. You’re my tough cookie. We got Grillby downstairs and the dogs are keeping an eye out for any trouble, they owe me,” he added with a wink. “And I’m here. You’re here. Bad shits over.” He drew his hand away when the tears stopped and leaned backwards to pick a bundle from off the floor.

“I got some clothes for you. There was no salvaging your stuff, hope you weren’t too attached to it.” _No_. “Good, because I burned that embarrassing trash. Pap and I are going to have to take you shopping for proper clothes.” _No_. “Too bad, I already told him. He’s planning a shopping spree.” _Ugh, fine_. “That’s my sweetheart. In the meantime, as much as I love having such a gorgeous naked human laying in my bed, you can wear these.” He held up a set of clothes. “They’re mine, so they’ll do for now. Lets get you dressed.”

That little adventure took the better part of half an hour with G becoming increasingly annoyed with your ragdoll limbs until a little blue magic was involved and you nearly face planted the floor twice. You were so going to punch him later. “You look good in my clothes, baby.” G laughed and patted your thigh lightly before standing to gather things. “Get some sleep, I’ll be up all night.”

The last thing you wanted to do was sleep and from your new slightly askew position, you watched the monster settle himself in the windowsill, tucking a leg under him as he balanced an ashtray on the narrow sill. He watched something down on the streets for a little while before gazing upward at the sky, working his way through a pack of smokes. It had to have been still in the late hours of the night by the sounds of the bar downstairs. Grillby’s closed down in the early mornings and didn’t reopen till the afternoon.

You royally screwed up. No doubt Gaster would want to speak with you and he would question everything, including your loyalty. You weren’t sure where you stood now with the Family. What if G hadn’t found you when he did? What if Muffet got her fangs in you? You weren’t really high on the totem of power, hell, you were a barely indoctrinated Soldato. What could she have possibly wanted with you? You watched G for a long time, neither of you saying anything.

You’re woken by the late morning sun streaming in through the open curtains and twist your head out of a ray of light. A hand followed and your startled yourself at your own movement. You curled fingers tentatively and found they obeyed stiffly. Methodically you worked your way through the rest, hands, arms, legs, the rest followed sluggishly but everything worked. Guess Grillby was really holding out on you.

Beside you slept G, curled on his side facing the open window. He had taken his shirt off sometime during the night, leaving the thin sleeveless undershirt to cling to his ribs and spine. He hadn’t bothered to remove his shoes. You couldn’t see his face but you weren’t sure you’d ever seen the monster this unguarded. Body protesting, you stretched an arm out and your elbow popped in angry protest. You pressed the flat of your palm against G’s shoulder blade and promptly shoved him off the bed.

“Asshole.”


	6. Dating Start? - Undertale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a super, serious fic and then it dissolved into my usual silliness. If you were expecting any actual plot, well you came to the wrong neighborhood, pal. But since you’re here, would you care for a cookie?  
>  **WARNINGS:** Undyne, food mention, drug mention.

You weren’t entirely sure why you were here. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure why Sans was here either. You were pretty sure that he hadn’t been invited to the ‘ _super, secret, very important BESTIES meeting and don’t you dare tell Alphys or you’re toast, I’m talking to you nerds, it’s a work in progress name, roll with it_.’ You glanced at the nearly vibrating Papyrus next to you on the couch, excitement and glee barely contained in the hundred-watt grin and occasional clap of his hands. You could hear him faintly rattling with self-restraint to keep from jumping up and joining Undyne pacing back and forth across her living room. On your other side, Sans was precariously teetering forward, skull propped up in his hand as he dozed off. You carefully pushed a finger against his forehead until he plopped back into a safer position.

Skeleton friend contained, you eyed the boiling cup of Sea Tea in front of you and Pap, proffered by the aquatic monster with only slight trepidation. Your friendship with the skelebros had extended to their small circle of monsters and you had already been warned about Undyne’s cooking. Granted, tea was, well tea and though she had never intentionally poisoned you, you still eyed the surprisingly delicate looking teacup with all the wariness of being presented with a jack in the box filled with bees.

“What?” You started.

“You’re totally a bestie, twerp!”

“By like proxy.” You chose to ignore the slightly hurtful name with little more than a squint and picked up your cup to take a distrustful sip. You knew there were bees but you opened it anyway, surprised there were bees. Setting the teacup down, you wiped your tongue with your napkin plus Sans’ unused one. He wasn’t going to need it. “But that’s not what my original question was for. What are we doing here, again?”

Serious Undyne resurfaced again and you could see why she had been the Captain of the Royal Guard underground. You found yourself leaning back under her piercing gaze and tried not to squirm and use Papyrus as a shield as he cheerfully drank his tea. He gave you a quick placating pat on the head that did nothing of the sort. Balling your hands into your lap, you opted to sit silently when she finally tore her gaze from you, gave a quick overdramatic, anguished cry and returned to her stalking back and forth. She mumbled and crossed her arms tightly, sounding very much like a very heated argument with herself with subtle reassurances woven in.

You weren’t sure if one of you should interrupt, feeling very much like another surprise bees incident was looming overhead. After clocking her in at three and a half minutes of uninterrupted brooding, you decided to brave the bees, uh, Undyne. “Um…”

The former Guard whirled around and slammed her hands atop the coffee table, nearly cracking it in half. You jumped near clean off the couch, causing Sans to snort in his sleep before curling himself into his hoodie. Papyrus looked gravely serious, still vibrating with excitement of course, but serious excitement. “You nerds know Al. What does she like?!”

“I… what?” You felt like this was going to be a reoccurring theme. “I don’t really know Alphys that well,” you answered truthfully before hurrying to add at the scowl directed at you. “I mean, we just watch anime from time to time.” You were still trying to get through One Piece without losing your mind. So far it was Pirate Anime - 5, you - 0.

“SCIENCE STUFF.”

Undyne nodded agreeingly. “I know that already. What else?”

“Collecting toys?” 

“BATTLE FIGURES.”

“Battle figures,” you repeated. “Cosplay?” Did the scientist actually dress up? You’d only ever seen the one schoolgirl outfit on her bed once and she seemed really embarrassed about it, shoving it into her closet and sweating like a sinner in church… oh my god, no. You really, _really_ didn’t want to be privy to the kinky going ons of your friend’s, friend’s girlfriend. Though, way to go dino lizard girl. 

“EXTRA CURRICULAR SCIENCE STUFF.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“NO.”

Well. You guessed he was technically right. “She likes spending time with you.” Papyrus nodded his fierce agreement.

“Gwah! I know that too!! What I want to know is, does she do anything or like anything different when you guys are **alone**?” You didn’t like the way she said alone and the single yellow eye flickered dangerously at you as if seeking an excuse to suplex you into the sun. You wouldn’t put it past her.

“How… would we know? I don’t know what you two do together. And I really don’t want to know.” You felt you had to add because over sharing was not caring.

“I’VE ONLY BEEN IN DR. ALPHYS’ COMPANY WITH YOU PRESENT, ‘DYNE.”

The eye swiveled back to you.

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Pap.”

“SINK OR SWIM, FRIEND.” If not for the cheerful intonation behind his words, you might have suspected Papyrus was being more than a little crafty than his usual aloofness suggested.

“Okay.” You pursed your lips, steepled your fingers and pressed them to your mouth thoughtfully. “pretend I’m super dumb here, shut up Sans,” the sleeping skeleton chuckled in his sleep, “and I don’t know what you’re asking me. Could you maybe give me an example or something?” You were really grasping at straws now, but it was slowly making sense? You guessed? Maybe? There was one too many question marks to your inner musings.

Undyne huffed and blew at a lock shocking red hair that had fallen from her topknot. She rubbed the back of her head briskly, catching the shorn parts in need of an upkeep. Maybe she could get Alphys to do it again. She sputtered so cutely and her hands shook but her lines came out straighter than Papyrus’.

“You know,” she waved her hand in the air and watched you duck instinctively. “Does she do stuff, like… different stuff.” You were getting nowhere fast. “Like, does she still do that cute little snout wiggle when she pushes up her nerdy glasses? Or snort uncontrollably when she starts laughing too much. It sounds painful, but it’s not. She says it’s not. Do you think it is?” 

“Uh-”

“Is she as passionate with you nerds as she is with me?!” That came out of nowhere but suddenly, you could see the end of the Understanding Undyne tunnel. It was a long tunnel filled with sharp spikes, traps and allegories. Those allegories were also booby-trapped.

“HOW PASSIONATE ARE WE TALKING ABOUT?”

“As passionate as a fire of passion!”

“I don’t like the way either of you are saying passionate.” The word was slowly losing it meaning after each utterance.

Papyrus nodded, rubbing his mandible thoughtfully. “GO ON.”

“Like when she rips into a total noob on the undernet or when she’s focused on one of her teaching lessons. It’s like the burning of a thousand Hotlands, passionate.”

“Stop saying passionate!”

Undyne wasn’t listening. “She’s so… grwarh!” That was a new sound to you. “I just want to kiss her, I want to punch her so bad, right in the cute kissy face.” She mimed the actual punch and you ducked again, just in case. “I want to kiss and punch and suplex her right through the wall!” The monster threw her hands up in desperation. “And cherry blossoms will rain down on the both of us as I hold her trembling body close to and whisper, ai shitteru.”

“WOW… THAT’S MORE INFORMATION THAN I CARED TO KNOW.”

“Please don’t punch your girlfriend.”

Undyne gave you an exasperated look from her slightly hunched position, miming holding an imaginary Alphys in a tender embrace. “I’m not going to really punch her. Just, metaphorically. With feelings.”

There it was. You guessed. “So you want to know if she acts different around us when you’re not here?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“…For… reasons.”

“IMPORTANT REASONS?”

“The Utmost!”

Papyrus returned to his thoughtful pose and all he needed was a deerstalker hat and a cob pipe to complete the illusion of a great detective working. Then suddenly as if coming to a great conclusion banged a fist into his open palm, only slightly muffled by his red gloves. “WE’LL DO IT!”

“You will?” Undyne looked genuinely surprised.

“What are we doing?” You felt genuinely confused.

Papyrus looked at you as if it was completely obvious. “WE WILL HELP UNDYNE TAKE THE NEXT STEP OF HER RELATIONSHIP WITH ALPHYS!”

“How did you come to that?”

“OH, HUMAN.” He gave you another pat on the head. Sans snorted in his sleep, clacking his teeth shut from his opened mouth, reclined position. A pink fluffy slipper fell from his foot and you absentmindedly bent to re-shoe the fuzzy socked skeletal foot. 

When you straightened, you felt you had to ask the obvious, “Why don’t you just talk to her?”

“Pfffft.” You didn’t think a fish monster could blush but the lilac tint that blossomed suddenly around her gills spoke otherwise. “I can’t… because of reason. So I’m enlisting the help of you punks. Papyrus!” Undyne stabbed a clawed finger in the skeleton’s direction.

“ON IT!” Papyrus dramatically held up his dating manual and after an awkward once over, you still weren’t sure where he pulled it from. He immediately set to flipping through it methodically. “YOU’VE ALREADY EXPRESSED YOUR FEELINGS TO ONE ANOTHER IN PERHAPS NOT SO MANY WORDS. HAVE YOU BEEN ON A DATE YET?”

“Yeah?”

That didn’t sound like the confident answer you were expecting. “Have you actually been on a date?”

“Totally. Like, so many.”

Papyrus made agreeing sounds, flipping through more pages.

“Not counting anime nights?”

The ensuing pause was enough. “Okay, okay, Al already knows you dig her, right? You don’t need to have gone on a date to tell her that. Is that… what you’re wanting to do?” You still hadn’t quite gotten a clear answer on anything, despite Papyrus’ unspoken scoff of all knowing, but at least you didn’t quite feel so lost now. You could even probably help, as limited as your dating experiences went.

“AHA! FOUND IT! THE THIRD BASE!” 

“Whoa, whoa!!” You threw a hand up and gave it a sharp wave to stop that conversation in its tracks. “Lets back this,” tentatively labeled, “dating advice train up.”

Undyne had gone completely purple, making terrifying sputtering sounds and you probably would have asked if Pap knew how to do the Heimlich maneuver by the lack of oxygen she clearly wasn’t getting, but you weren’t sure a skeleton would know what a Heimlich was. You paused. Did you? The deep red, proud fins that framed her face were fluttering up and down in a disjointed way that honestly, still made you a little worried about the former unflappable monster.

“Let’s put a pin in that for now and maybe concentrate more on how Undyne can woo Alphys.” That sounded harmless enough and the monster didn’t sound like she was slowly dying quite as badly. “We have to get on the field first before we round the bases, yeah?”

“FOOTBALL IS SO CONFUSING.” Papyrus snapped his manual closed and you side eyed him and his audible wink. “OKAY. DATING START!”

You waited a moment, watching your friend point dramatically toward the ceiling and you couldn’t help but loft your eyes upward, noting a recently fixed patch that was distinctly spear shaped. Undyne snapped up into a ready position, ready to tackle whatever Papyrus threw her way. It was an actual legit ready position, feet apart, knees bent, and arms out. You sat tense on the couch again, waiting. Sans mumbled and scratched himself before rolling over. 

Was something supposed to be happening?

“Uhm?” The real world stuttered around you, fading in and out before guttering into a black and white scheme and though you’d never touched anything stronger than an Advil, you were pretty sure this was what tripping balls was like. “What the crap spackle?!” It slipped out of you like you were the second cousin of a filthy sailor but considering your acid trip circumstances, you felt vindicated enough for the mild swear.

Snapping your head back and forth, you realized you were still sitting on the couch in Undyne’s living room but there was a void of absolute color and a heaviness in your chest. You were fairly certain you hadn’t ingested anything weird in the last hour or so, other than Undyne’s… you looked down at your cooling tea of metaphorical drug laced bees.

“What did you put in the tea?” You hadn’t meant it to sound as hysterical or accusatory but it was a little hysterical and slightly accusatory.

“Mint?” The fish monster’s unfussy response was enough to pluck you from your musings and snap you back to your black and white real world.

“Oh. Now that you say that, I can totally taste it.”

“WELCOME TO THE DATING HUD, FRIENDS. I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL BE YOUR DATING SHERPA!”

“When did you change?” You eyed the white out Skeleton in a pair of jean shorts, a modest crop top complete with rhinestone wording proclaiming the wearer as a ‘Cool Dude’, slightly deflated basketball shoulder pads and a hip baseball cap he had so coolly tilted at a thirty degree angle. Undyne high fived Papyrus, nearly bowling the skeleton over with the force behind it.

“NYEH HEH HEH!”

That didn’t answer anything. Then again you were distracted by the dating HUD configures floating around Papyrus and Undyne and if one of them had replied with a logical and well explained answer, you didn’t hear it. You didn’t quite know where to look first, watching the population graph climb up and up, the dog radar? What did you need a dog radar for? It looked pretty far away anyways. The egg floated ominously to the side and you felt like you shouldn’t draw attention to it. Wow, it all looked like a video game. The floor looked like an endless void and you unconsciously tucked your feet underneath you, temporarily stranded on the couch amidst the black sea of nothingness.

“Sans,” you whispered, not taking your eyes off the troublesome duo as they hunkered close to each other, Papyrus wrapping an arm around Undyne’s shoulder to draw her closer to impart his great dating wisdom. You clumsily reached sideways to lightly tap the skeleton and nearly jabbed your fingers in his half lidded sockets. “Sans, are you awake?”

“no,” he yawned, stretching.

You could only catch snippets of the conversation between the normally robust two, hushed, frenzied whispers only making you more nervous. It had a similar feel of a room full of quiet kids, you knew something bad was happening. Straining as far as you could without falling off the couch, you listened in, Undyne surprisingly quiet between Papyrus’ advice.

“TENDERNESS GOES A LONG WAY… NO, I DON’T THINK A ROMANTIC SUPLEX IS THE SAME AS A FRIENDSHIP ONE… SPAGHETTI? I HARDLY KNEW HER… SHE NEEDS A MORE REFINED PALATE!” 

“Refine this!” Now you could hear Undyne in the more familiar brazen tone.

“PLEASE DON’T NOOGIE THE DATING SHERPA!”

You pawed at Sans a few more times and he swatted you away with the same sloth like vigor. “Then wake your bony butt up.”

“all right, all right, i’m up. what? oh.”

“Yeah,” you agreed.

“cool.”

“How?”

“magic,” he replied, giving a wiggle of phalanges.

“We are so not friends.” 

He chuckled and propped his chin in his hand, slouching again to sleepily watch his brother straighten, giving the top of his skull a brisk rub and Undyne turned her attention to you. “she can’t see you, if you don’t move.”

When did your life become a Spielberg movie? You instinctually froze, certain your great, great, great ancestors would have been proud of your hiding instincts. For one puzzling moment, Undyne swiveled her head and you couldn’t help the brief triumphed of evading the predator before the single eye found you.

“nice knowing ya, pal.”

“Not helping,” you squeaked in the most dignified tone you could muster as Undyne marched toward you.

“Punk!”

“Ahhhhyouhavetomakeherfeelspecial!” Your could feel your ancestors rolling in their grave at your deflect but Undyne trailed to a stop in front of you. She stared down at you, a rough tilt of her brow and you squeezed back into the couch, hoping it would swallow you whole. Papyrus came to your unintended rescue.

“YOU’VE GOT TO SPIN AND DIP HER!”

“What?” You and Undyne said simultaneously, looking back.

The sharply dressed skeleton was already giddily strolling back to you, holding out a hand for you take and you were already reaching back before you realized it and stared mutely at the outstretched glove as it was neatly thrust in your face. “HUMAN, IF I MAY?”

“Uh,” your brain took a second to catch up, registering what he was asking. “Pretty sure your brother would murder me.”

“DON’T BE SILLY HUMAN. SANS DOESN’T DO THAT ANYMORE.”

You made a strangled sound of laughter before glancing sideways as Sans winked and shot you a lazy finger gun. You were _really_ going to have to reevaluate your friendship with the skelebros after this.

Taking your silence and half extended hand for a yes, Papyrus hauled you to your feet and you stumbled only to be caught in boney arms as you sagged forward. Grasping at the front of his shirt, you felt the hard unrelenting set of ribs your face was currently smashed against before the world shifted. Hands gently shoved at your shoulders to set you back before your hand was taken again and then you were half spun, half thrown away from the skeleton. Like a ragdoll, you snapped back, only saving yourself from face planting on the floor by the death grip you had on the gloved hand wrapped around yours. You had roughly .02 seconds to register you were blinding groping backwards for purchase and finding nothing before your arm was painfully yanked above your head and you were spun back in.

“LIKE A SEXY TOP.” You heard Papyrus explain and you were still spinning awkwardly, graceful as a drunk gazelle until you bodychecked the monster, ending your angrily ballerina twirl of death. You groaned in pain because as tall and skinny as Papyrus was, he was still built like a damn skyscraper of really hard bone. You were already slightly nauseous over whatever Undyne may or may not have spiked your tea with and the dizzying whirling didn’t help either. You stiffened when Pap tried to dip you and you felt the gentle leg sweep catch behind your knee and then you were bent in half, supported by an unwavering arm tucked behind your back arching it painfully. You were the ultimate vision of panic stricken fear. Sexy fear.

“TADA!” Papyrus immediately dropped you to give jazz hands.

“… Ow.” Since you didn’t fall through the endless void of the floor, you decided to stay half sprawled on Papyrus’ boots. Maybe you’d even scuff them a little with your butt. Served him right for dropping you for waggling digits.

“Like this?!” Undyne reached for Papyrus in an attempt to mimic the dramatic twirl and ended up with a skeletal elbow in the face. She tried again and got a knee to her thigh. “Gah! You’re too tall Paps, too, too… boney!” 

“Heh.” 

Undyne peered down at you, Papyrus in a headlock and looking absolutely pleased as punch at the prospect. “I will drop him on you,” she threatened.

“Noted.” You folded your hands over your stomach, crossing your legs in your reclined position. You felt you were taking this fairly well, figuring you’d at least have a really cool story to tell your grandkids about the time you vividly hallucinated and survived Undyne’s cooking. Maybe you’d even win a medal. “Why don’t you practice with Sans? He’s like Al’s height.” 

You looked, Papyrus having no choice as the fish monster spun around and the three of you were faced with an empty couch. For such a lazybones, he sure got around fast. You don’t think you’d ever figure out how he does that.

“WE COULD USE YOU AGAIN,” Pap offered unhelpfully.

“Perfect!” Releasing her death grip on Papyrus, Undyne hauled you effortlessly to your feet and you felt your body and soul leave the mortal realm as you were spun deftly and dipped till you were certain you were going to bang your head on the floor. You grabbed at anything in a desperate bid to keep yourself from ascending and clung to a well-toned and muscular bicep. Holy crap, Undyne was buff. Her single good eye leered down at you in a depth of longing you’d never imagined directed at you and you felt your face flush as your heart pounded loudly, a protest dying on your tongue.

“U-undyne?”

The dating HUD winked out instantly, replaced with Undyne’s living room in normal, realistic, non acid tripping colors and you both turned your heads to see Alphys standing at the edge of the room, half way out of her coat. She stared at you in Undyne’s arms clearly puzzled, then Papyrus mid cheer and plucked at the edge of her adorable Sailor Moon t-shirt with pastel pink polished claws. If you looked close enough, you were certain they’d have some sort of moon motif.

“Alphys!” For the second time you hit the floor with a thud and your groan of pain ignored as Undyne straightened, tugging on her shirt to alleviate invisible wrinkles and ran a hand through her ruffled hair. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s F-Friday?” She answered hesitantly before holding up a canvas bag with a faded logo of an anime girl scout fighting group. You couldn’t place which one from your current position on the floor. “Movie n-night?” Awkward silence followed.

Papyrus cleared his throat excruciatingly loudly, jarring everyone.

“Right! Movie night!” Undyne tilted her head back, laughing loudly and set her hands on her hips.

“Am… am I inter-r-rupting anything?” A bead of perspiration formed in the crest of her spiked helm.

That silenced the laughing monster immediately, the purple blush rising from her neck. “What? No, psh, nah. We were just… just…” She looked to Papyrus. “Sparring?”

Sans took that moment to shuffle out of the kitchen, munching on something as he wiped his hands down the front of his sweatshirt much to the chagrin tsk of his brother. “hey, alphys,” he offered a wave and dug around in a pocket. “here, undyne. i got that anime convention ticket you wanted.”

Experience taught her to never accept anything from Sans but she stuck her hand anyway, staring at the scientist as she started to fidget. He dropped a crisp white envelope onto it and Undyne glanced down to stare at it.

“oh no,” he continued dully. “i accidentally got you an extra one and booked an all expense paid weekend for two at the spa that’s conveniently next door. whatever shall you do?” He shrugged. “guess you’ll have to sell it or hmm, take someone who’s free the entire week with you. say someone who’s currently on spring break and not teaching?” 

“I-is that for the Magical Girl Lyrica Fantastical Scouts convention? The one that’s been s-sold out for m-months?”

Undyne looked to Sans who nodded, and snapped back to the yellow monster. “…Yes?”

Alphys wilted slightly and tapped her claws together, focusing on them. “I, uh, hope you have f-fun, Undyne. With whomever you g-go with.”

“Alphie?” Taking a deep breath, fins giving one determined flap, Undyne marched forward.

“Yes?” Looking up, Alphys gravitated a timid step closer, hands curling above her chest.

“Would you… maybe…” Undyne rubbed the back of her head sheepishly as she slowed.

“Y-yes?”

“Like to…I dunno.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow to watch as Papyrus stood next to you. “I don’t know if I should look away or not.”

“IT’S LIKE A CAR CRASH. ON THE SUN.”

“Yes?” Alphys tried again, taking another step closer, sweating more profusely.

“Go…”

“Yes!”

“Yes?” Taken back by the sudden outburst by the timid monster, one usually reserved for Mew Mew conversations, Undyne smiled toothily and as intimidating as the shark grin was, Alphys returned the smile with a bright one of her own. The smile dimmed slightly when Undyne loomed suddenly over her and she was snatched up in strong arms to be smushed into a bone-crushing hug.

“I THOUGHT THERE WOULD BE CHERRY BLOSSOMS?”

You craned your neck to look up at Sans. “You had that the whole time?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “eh got bored waiting.”

“How?”

“how, what?”

“How’d you get them?” 

“magic.”

“Why are we friends again?”

Sans laughed and tucked his hands into his pockets, shrugging again. “i know a guy who knows a guy who owns me a favor. figured this was good as any favor.”

“Aww, you big ol’ softy bones.” The light blue blush caught you off guard.

Papyrus sniffed, moving to stand between you two and used the edge of his scarf to wipe away non-existent tears. He reached down to pat you on the head and Sans on the shoulder. “OUR WORK HERE IS DONE!”

“But we didn’t do anything?”

“NYEH HEH HEH!” With one quick flourish, he hauled you up, tucked Sans under an arm and sprinted off toward the opposite side of the living room.

“Wait, oh God! Not the window!”


	7. Redacted

Oh hey, I didn’t see you come in. You’re probably wondering, where did this fic go? Have no fear, I’ve simply moved it and a few others to a new location here . Some of my one shots were fontcest (And other skeleton ship based) fics and not everyone likes those kinds of fics. To avoid hurting or triggering anyone, I’ve decided to separate them. That way, everyone gets what they want and everyone stays safe. I love you all!

P.S. I’m vain as heck and didn’t want to lose my comments and likes, so this is why these entries will remain up to keep my comments and the love for them.


	8. The Waiting Game - Bitty Bones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally I wouldn’t name OC’s but I felt it was a little odd without them. So, a little bit of geekiness gets to shine through. Inspired by SansyFresh’s work, they’re amazing. Seriously, read their stuff, they’re too cool. Baba is the closest thing I could come up with for a gender-neutral term in lieu of mama/papa for Reader and I hope it works. Even though this is a one shot, I will probably be doing more in the future with these guys. Maybe I might even make a separate story with how much background and planning I’ve put into these buttheads. *Sighs* I really love the Bitty Bones fandom so much.
> 
> Hellberry © [AlbatrossTech](http://albatrosstech.deviantart.com). Lil Bro, Baby Blue and Edgy © [fucken-crybaby](http://fucken-crybaby.tumblr.com).  
>  **WARNINGS:** Language, fighting, the edgiest of Bittys, so edgy you can cut a rug, more attempts at jokes and puns.

“WHEN’S SEVEN O’CLOCK?”

The Lil Bro yawned languidly, scratched his ribs thoroughly through the thick, grey hoodie and lofted his head just enough to look past his sternum from his sprawled out position. His fuzzy eye lights struggled to focus on the little figure standing on the edge of the coffee table peering up at him and plucked the dying cigarette from his teeth before yawning again. With the greatest of efforts he tipped his head slightly to the right to read the clock on the far wall before letting his head drop back down in the plush armrest of the couch. He answered with the lazy patience of an older brother, “ _like_ _five minutes from the last time you asked_.”

The figure huffed impatiently and kicked at the fragment of a red crayon he’d been coloring with. It skittered across a pristine sheet of printer paper, leaving behind skipping red marks and collided wit the small collection of other colorful shards. “THEY’RE GOING TO BE LATE, PARKER.” The small bitty dropped to his knees, reached for a blue crayon way too big for his hands and forcefully dragged it across the paper, creating a rift amidst the white. “THEY’RE ALWAYS LATE.” He scratched the crayon upward, slowly filling in the sky he’d been working on for the better of the evening. It was tough work when your canvas was more than ten times your size.

“ _relax, bro. they said they were going to pick up dinner after work_.” Parker tugged on the hood of his sweatshirt, pulling it further down over his eye sockets to shield them from the ceiling lights. He did a slow, awkward shimmy to find a more comfortable spot and alleviate the pinch in his spine. When he found it, he let out a low groan of satisfaction and finished his cigarette to the sounds of furious drawing. The coffee table was littered with the Baby Blue’s artist renditions of, well, Parker couldn’t really make anything out, but they were really nice colorful scribbles. The fridge was already plastered with too many of them, becoming a hazard for their resident snack monster.

“WELL, I’M GOING TO DRAW BABA ANOTHER PICTURE.” 

“ _you do that, champ_.”

The Blue’s determined laugh was drowned out by the television across the living room as channels were slowly surfed through. None of the occupants gave it much heed, though every once in a while the little artist would glance up periodically when something caught his attention. It didn’t last long before he was back on all fours, smashing the broad side of a green crayon piece to create a feathered section of his drawing. Subconsciously he would reach for the blue scarf tied around his neck to reassure himself it was there, giving a light tug before continuing on.

The relative silence lasted long enough for the Lil Bro to light up another cigarette and work through half off it before the coffee table was a flurry of activity. Dusting his hands off, the bitty followed with brushing the crayon shavings from his comically large, dark blue shorts and set his hands on his hips to survey his masterpiece. It was difficult to find the Blue clothing that fit, falling smaller than the average bitty by half an inch. The softer blue shirt he wore slipped off a shoulder but he paid it little mind, focused solely on finding any imperfections to his work. Twice he bent to smudge a line or crisp up a shape before finally finding it satisfactory.

“CALLIE, WHAT DO YOU THINK?” He called over his shoulder.

“ **looks good, dude**.” Rumbled the sleepy, deep tone. 

“YOU’RE NOT EVEN LOOKING!” 

A snort of amusement echoed from inside the large potato chisp bag on the couch and it shuddered, rolling slightly as a pair of blue sneakers appeared, squeaking against the bag’s silver lining as the bitty inside struggled for purchase. It rolled a little closer to the edge before rolling back, tumbling bitty and chisps around. “ **hang on, ace**.” It rolled again, tottered precariously and unceremoniously slipped over the edge with a crunchy thump.

“CALIBAN?!” Ace dashed to the edge of the table, already preparing to make the leap down.

Taking the last drag of his cigarette, Parker extinguished it on one of the decorative metal rivets as he sat up, worry tensing his lanky frame, but his tone came out painfully calm. “ _you still alive in there, bro_?”

“ **as alive as a skeleton can be** ,” came the delayed huffed response and the bag rustled as the bitty inside slowly climbed out backwards on their hands and knees, catching the curved horns on the edge. Nearly losing his balance again, Caliban straightened with a tug of his t-shirt over his protruding stomach and rubbed at a flickering orange socket with the back of his hand. Chisp fragments clung to the rounded figure, most sticking to his dark shirt and shorts and he gave the two concerned bitties a thumbs up.

Parker looked relieved, slumping again and absently rubbed at his lower spine to alleviate the kink from moving too fast.

“jesus, can ya’ll shut the hell up? i’m tryna watch tv.”

“ _and the prodigal edgelord makes his debut_.” The Bro rolled his eyes, the act lost as he tugged the hood back over his face, wanting nothing more than to curl up and fall asleep.

“fuck off.”

“ _make me_.” There was no actual malice behind the taunt, a near automatic response to the Edgy sitting beside the television, half perched atop of the remote as he continued to flick through the channels. He grumbled immediately but made no move to do anything, refocusing his attention back to the massive screen he was way too close to. He squinted slightly before pushing down on the Up button with his whole weight, a new channel snapping up.

With a grunt, Caliban teleported atop the coffee table, not even bothering to haul himself up. That required too much effort and coordination and he wasn’t feeling either of those today. He gave a quick shake of his clothes to dislodge the remains of his snack, mindful of the art floor and kicked a broken piece away before the salty oil could seep into one of the drawings.

“CALLIE.” Ace gestured for the taller bitty to bend down, giving an exaggerated wave of a pink tinted hand. He had a faint streak of green just below his right eye socket. “YOU HAVE A CHISP STUCK ON YOUR HORN.” The Hellberry humored the Blue and bent slightly for the smaller to stand on tiptoe and pluck it off. He turned it between his fingers, eyeing it with what could only be described as distain and promptly fed it to the extra magical mouth that resided on Caliban’s stomach.

Cal’s cheekbones colored before he could catch himself when the bitty patted it, murmuring a few words of praise as one would give their beloved pet. He ruffled the smaller’s head and plucked at the edges of the little scarf to straighten it.

The Edgey made an exaggerated gagging noise. “gross.”

“DON’T BE RUDE, HOLLY.”

“don’t call me that.”

“ _holly belle_.”

The Edgy glared daggers at the still lounging Parker.

“ _holly jolly, itty bitty_.”

“fuck. off.”

“ _fight me_.” 

“NO! NO FIGHTING. BABA SAID YOU GUYS CAN’T FIGHT ANYMORE IF YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK THEIR BATTLE FIGURES.” The Blue gestured to the catgirl maid figurine on the side table beside the couch, a distinct glued crack running across her ample bosom. He planted himself between the two, despite the living room of space between them and the different furniture they had claimed.

Caliban had wisely hunkered himself down to sit atop of a stack of magazines in the only uncommandeered space left on the coffee table to watch the three. He casually ate a chisp lodged between the ulna and radius of his arm, content to sit on the sideline. There wasn’t a day that went by where the Lil Bro and Edgy, weirdest names if he ever did hear, didn’t argue like a old married couple ready to dust one another. For as long as he had known them, Parker would needle Hollis until the Edgy snapped, ready to throw down and then Park would laugh and walk away. Ace, the youngest out of their little mismatched group, was usually roped into playing referee and despite the occasional escalated fight, the two older were usually conscious of the Blue’s whereabouts. His stomach grumbled loudly and the mouth returned it and he glanced at the clock. When was the kid coming home?

“i’ll break whatever the hell i want!” Climbing to his feet, Hollis narrowed in on the closest thing, a small plastic robot model nearly twice his height from some random movie or another. He couldn’t really care less and promptly shoved it off the side of the television stand. It clattered to the floor and an arm snapped off from the impact, skittering across the ground to disappear under the couch. The Edgy bristled in his oversized leather jacket. Half an incher taller than the Blue, it still put him on the smaller scale of size, something the taller Lil Bro lorded over him as the tallest of the four.

“HOLLY!” The exasperated yell was lost on the Edgy as Ace ran to the side of the table to check on the massacre. There were no survivors. “HOW COULD YOU? BABA JUST FINISHED PUTTING THAT ONE TOGETHER.”

“ _dick move, bro_.” There was a disappointed edge to the otherwise teasing tone. 

“i ain’t yer bro,” Hollis spat back.

“ _thank heavens for small favors_.”

“are ya callin’ me small?” The Edgy climbed to his feet from where he sat on the remote.

“ _if the tiny baby shoe fits_.” 

Hollis growled, balling his hands into fists at his side. “say that to my face.”

“ _all the way down there? i can’t stoop that low, bad back_.”

“CALLIE.” Ace tugged on Caliban’s sleeve insistently with enough force to rock the taller bitty. “YOU’RE THE OLDEST. MAKE THEM STOP FIGHTING, I DON’T THINK BABA HAS ANY MORE GLUE TO FIX THEIR BATTLE FIGURES.”

That was a fight he one hundred percent wasn’t interested in interfering with. “ **i would, but oh no, gravity magic is keeping me down**.” The Hellberry flopped down onto his back, sprawled across the magazines. “ **i’m dying, dude**.”

“CALLIE NO!” There was a heavy flap of magazine papers as the Blue stomped his foot. “MAGIC DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT.”

“ **you’ll have to go on without me. tell the kid, i ate all their chisps**.” He offered a quiet, demure death, his stomach’s tongue flopping out for just the right amount of dramatics.

 _“good going mc-scenekid, you killed the sugarlump_.”

Caliban could only take a mild offense to the otherwise accurate statement.

Hollis snorted, “if anything, his nasty ass diet will do it.”

Well, he had to give the Edgy his due props, no denying his poor eating habits. He couldn’t help it if he was hungry all the time and everything looked so damn tasty and helped fill the void. Guess he couldn’t really keep calling himself big boned anymore.

Ace crouched beside the fallen bitty, balancing on the toes of his favorite pastel blue boots. Shimmering eye lights wavered and his grin dimmed before giving a gentle pat atop Caliban’s head, stroking carefully between the short curved horns. His voice came out smaller than usual, “CALLIE. YOU’RE NOT ACTUALLY DEAD, ARE YOU?”

It was all too easy to forget how much the little guy took things at face value. Parker and him had been trying to teach the Blue not to listen to everything Hollis said and it was slow progress. What helped was when the kid was home and able to spend one on one time with them all. Caliban gave a comical snore and tried to keep his blush at bay when the petting intensified into a rigorous rubbing.

“yer too fuckin’ gullible.”

“STOP SWEARING HOLLY!” Hollis grumbled as Ace snapped back up to a standing position and appointed referee. “BABA NAMED YOU AFTER A GOOD MAN AND YOU SHOULDN’T USE SUCH LANGUAGE.”

“ _yeah holly belle_.”

Those three were going to be the premature dusting of Caliban.

Hollis casually flipped off the Bro, purposefully ignoring Ace’s squawk of outrage as he sat back down with a rattling thump atop the remote. He planted his hands between his scarred knees, fingers curling around the edge of the remote and leaned forward to sneer down at the Baby Blue. “at least i ain’t named after a dog.”

Ace crossed his arms and huffed. “DOGS ARE LOYAL COMPANIONS AND FRIENDS TO HUMANS! SO… SO, I TAKE THAT AS A COMPLIMENT!” He stomped his foot dangerously close to Caliban’s head to make his point. “OH! SORRY CALLIE.”

The Hellberry gave an awkward shrug from his lax position, eyes still closed. “ **batman’s pretty cool**.” He missed the Blue’s eye lights brighten dramatically, vaguely taking on the brief shape of stars directed at him. The kid had a penchant for nerdy names as evident by the vast display of comic books, games and collectables strewn across the apartment in some sort of cohesive mess. He didn’t mind his so much, still getting used to actually having one and out of the four, his had a certain badass quality to it. Not that he’d ever tell the others.

Caliban listened to the casual fighting between the three, arguments escalating to the usual name-calling, useless threats and the occasional display of power and even then, it was never really anything to worry about. Still, he thought about having Ace hunker down beside him, the Blue already working himself up. The small bitty shuffled back and forth as if debating which piece of furniture to scale to stop the arguing, pulling painfully on his scarf with quick violent tugs, the motion missed by the others.

“ _mc-edgelord_.”

“stoner.”

“ _edgerton_.”

“trailer trash!” He probably shouldn’t have been so mad at the lackluster names, but it was the fact so little effort was put into them was what ticked him off. Hollis lobbed a glowing red bone of magic at Parker who lazily knocked it away with a flick of his own orange glowing constructed bone. It dissipated almost immediately, unable to keep its shape and the Bro rubbed at his right eye socket at the flaring irritation. 

“ _at least i’m cute trash_.”

Maybe he was going to have to step up and get the two to stop if they were resorting to magic already. Sitting up with a grunt, Caliban reached out to swipe at the Blue who only dodged out of his grasp. The little guy could be pretty willy when he wanted to.

“PLEASE! DON’T FIGHT!” He gave a particularly vicious yank on the scarf and there was the pop of material, threatening to tear but he was unable to break out of the old comforting habit. The cervical vertebrae worn smooth by the repeated gesture and in some places worn down to the point of discomfort.

“ **g u y s**.”

That got the attention of all three and Hollis glared down at the Hellberry before giving a toss of his head and scoffed. “tell ya boyfriend to stay outta what’s between me and the weed bag, puppy.”

Caliban sputtered, losing the immediate edge he had and the mouth on his stomach grimaced.

“SO WHAT IF HE IS?” Ace parked himself next to him, just shy of resting his hand atop the bitty’s head, his other hand still wrapped around the length of material of his scarf.

“ **dude, ace** ,” he said as gently as he could, careful of the tone, “ **i’m not your b-boyfriend**.”

“BUT…” He looked down with a confused frown and gently touched fingertips to the closest horn, trailing down to the base in the most wildly inappropriate innocent gesture and Caliban leaned into it unconsciously. “YOU ARE A BOY AND MY FRIEND?”

“ **i uh** …” He gave a silent pleading look over the bitty’s shoulder at the amused Parker, enjoying the moment of reprieve. He saw the shrug all the way from the coffee table and made a desperate sound, only eliciting more of the stroking gesture and he would never forgive himself if he started purring.

Parker took an extra long drag of his dwindling cigarette, more of a stub than anything before taking it easy on the sweating bitty. “ _caliban doesn’t wear stripped sweaters, ace_.” He carefully explained. “ _so he can’t be called a boy anymore. he’s an adult like the majority of us. so, just call him a friend_.”

“OH.” The confusion gave way to cheerful clarity and acceptance. “OKAY!”

“ **thanks, dude**.” 

The Lil Bro returned with a thumbs up, scrunching one eye socket at the slight shift of his weight and caught Caliban’s worried glance. He gave a quick, subtle shake of his head. He was fine.

“if you guys are done jerkin’ it over each other, mind shuttin’ up?”

“ _who pissed in your cheerios_?” Parker rolled his head back toward the Edgy who had returned to the remote, leaning rhythmically on the volume to bring it up. He didn’t have the girth or strength to keep it pressed down.

“i’m watchin’ the traffic report.”

“ _why, you going somewhere mc-edgerton_?” 

Hollis grumbled under his breath, “used that one already,” before continuing in a louder pointed tone, drawing himself up and there was a drop of sweat that pearled atop his brow, the light catching the faint red underneath his sockets that only seemed to deepen them. “there was a traffic accident down on eleventh street.”

The four bittys lapsed into a heavy silence, Parker sitting up straight while Caliban climbed to his feet to gain the extra inch of height to watch the television. Beside him, Ace plucked at his sleeve nervously, curling fingers around the elder’s forearm at the instant tension in the room, leaning into the comforting bulk of the Hellberry. Above his head, Caliban and Parker exchanged quick looks, neither voicing their thoughts and the Bro tried to pick up on the Edgy who had refused to look away from the television screen, leaving faint gouges in the remote, the only outward sign of his own worry.

The normal vibrant starry eyes of the Blue shrank to minimal dots as he watched a female reporter drone on about a collision, standing behind a line of fluttering yellow tape, keeping the crew and curious people back. Behind her, Ace could make out a familiar office building and inhaled sharply, his grip tightening on Caliban. “BABA’S OKAY, RIGHT?”

“ **i, uh…** ” The horned bitty struggled, staring at the outside of their kid’s workplace and his magic stirred uncomfortably in his bones. “ **sure dude, they’re okay**.”

The hesitancy didn’t leave the Blue reassured and he sniffed quietly, worrying his scarf and buried his face behind it. He startled when a heavy arm dropped around his shoulders, bringing him into a sideways hug. “ **come on, don’t let it get under your skin**.” Ace’s exaggerated annoyed huff didn’t diminish the fact he returned the hug with a tighter grip.

“ _heh, nice. long distance high five_.” Parker raised a hand into the air and Caliban returned the gesture. Hollis rolled his eye lights, crossing his arms around his middle to keep from clawing out the power button of the remote, wanting nothing more than to hurl it straight through the dumb reporter’s face as she continued reciting vague details.

The faint jangle of keys in the front door was missed until it swung open, revealing a tired you, laden down with your work bag slung over one shoulder, backpack on the other and straining plastic bag holding a couple of greasy paper bags in your hand. You struggled to get your keys out of the tricky lock and looked up at the exuberant greeting.

“BABA’S HOME!”

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Dinner took longer than expected. There was a huge accident near where work and I got stuck in traffic.”

Disentangling himself from Caliban, Ace launched himself forward and barely closed the gap between coffee table and couch, nearly stumbling and kept going with an artful flail of arms. There might have been a little nudge of two different types of blue magic from Cal and Parker to make sure the Blue stuck the landing and the two visibly relaxed. Your Edgy ignored you as usual and changed the channel to a random game show, dutifully invested in it. Hiking up his pants, Ace scrambled up the back of the couch, using the worn in folds of the cushions for purchase and launched himself like a Spartan king from the top. 

You freed a hand just in time to catch him, keys jangling as you dropped them in order to hold the flying bitty. You were used to this reaction, Ace greeting you with every fiber of his being. “Whoa, little guy,” you laughed. “I think that’s a new record.” The Blue buried himself in your shirt, uncharacteristically quiet. “Did, I, uh, miss something?”

“ _nah_ ,” Parker replied with a yawn. “ _we were just debating on which one of us to eat first if you didn’t get home in enough time_.”

“Ah. Guess I got back in the nick of time.” You shut the door behind you with a light kick of your heel and watched your keys enveloped in blue magic before they dragged themselves up and over to the little table with a single bowl atop it. The keys dropped into the pile of other keys and you smiled at the helpful Hellberry. You held up the bag of Mexican food. “Who’s hungry?”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

“So what kind of trouble did you guys get into today?” You brushed a thumb over the back of Caliban’s head and he melted into your touch, slouching from his perch on your knee. You kept a hand around him to prevent him from slipping and he took the opportunity to snuggle around your index finger, playfully turning the spinner ring in its cradle.

“ _made fun of hollis, mostly_.” Parker sat on your shoulder, leaning carefully against your neck as he fought with his lighter. He gave it a couple quick shakes before finally invoking a tiny flame to light his cigarette. It smelled like cloves and he made sure to blow it away from your face before relaxing further into you.

“jerk.” Hollis had taken up his usual spot on your other knee, sitting cross-legged with arms folded angrily as he faced the television and away from the rest of you. There was already a bead of blood welling up from the bite he gave you but you could see him keeping an eye on it. You were certain if it didn’t stop on its own, you’d have a wedge of napkin pressed against it when you weren’t looking.

“Hmm.” You dug around the mostly flattened bag of fast food beside your slumped form on the couch, pulled out a still crispy piece of chip and passed it over to the eager Hellberry who made grabby hands from his prone position.

Ace mumbled something in his sleep, curling further into the impossibly tiny ball in your other hand and clutched at your shirt. The mumbling gave way to soft snores as he settled down in his sleep when you held him closer. He smeared the bit of missed taco sauce from his cheek onto your shirt. Amidst the leftover brown, greasy paper bags, Ace’s drawings were scattered about, each one given it’s own five minute explanation on the finer points of color, placement and why two of them had Caliban shaped bites missing from the corners. Ace’s laughter was the cutest and sweetest thing ever as he tugged on his scarf and hid his face when you fawned over each other, unable to decide which was your favorite. You’d put them up in the morning with his help, your kitchen cabinets were looking a little bare and in dire need of some new art.

It didn’t surprise you the little guy zonked out after dinner, as he was prone to do. You were, however, surprised to learn the Baby Blue hadn’t eaten lunch like he was suppose to. Ace was too easily distracted in his hyperactivity and needed daily reminders, routine was applicable but never enforced, something you’d been struggling with ever since taking in the Blue. You relied on the older bitties to help fill in and keep an eye on the little guy when you were at work. Your simple question and glance earned three varying degrees of guilty looks.

“And the model hiding under the couch is…?”

“ _collateral damage_.”

You hummed a slow accusatory hum and watched Hollis bury himself further into the little leather jacket and decided to not give him a hard time. “Good thing it’s an easy fix. Hey, Hol, bud,” you hitched your knee gently. “Think you can help me put it back together?”

“no.” Came the quiet response.

“Awww come on man. You’ve got the steadiest hands out of all of us.” The light pink blush that followed made you swallow a grin. “Please, sweetheart?” The blush deepened at the pet name and you knew you were playing dirty. You didn’t use it often, but sometimes it was almost too easy to see the hardened Edgy go all soft on you.

“fine.” An even quieter reply. “whatever.”

“Thanks, dude.” You paused and grinned. “Lord Edgesworth the Fourth,” your horribly attempt a haughty, British accent, drew out the words with a painfully nasally tone. “Of the Edgeington Estate.”

“what the actual fuck?”

Caliban’s rolling laughter woke Ace.


	9. Short Shorts I - Multiverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy Dukes for everyone! *Whips out the shorts gun and fires into the crowd* Multiverse is a blanket term I’ll be using whenever I smash together more than one AU. I didn't get the proper time to finish writing what I wanted this week. So have a few ficlets, mini fics, drabbles, whatever you want to call them, that I write and then hoard. There isn't a ship I don't like, so there's lots of them. If you don't see your fave, have no fear, I will have more of these that'll eventually make their debut, including some OT3’s and rare pairs. No hate for any ship, I love them all.  
>  **WARNINGS:** So much fluff and cuteness, it could kill a full grown person. You know, if their weakness was fluff and cuteness, food mention.

**SANS & READER (UT Sans/You)**

You’d always been told crickets chirping during the summer nights was suppose to be relaxing and pleasant. You glared at the open window letting in the warm breeze and chorus of annoying symphony of bugs screeching into the night air to attract their next bug boning partner. You were too tired to get up and close the window and instead groaned against your partner’s shoulder, pressing your forehead against cool bone. His quiet breathing hitched at the contact and he rolled unconsciously toward you. Phalanges groped until they found you, tugged you closer and Sans mumbled in your hair, nuzzling you sweetly.

From beneath the rumpled shirt you had bought him last Christmas, a graphic tee with the text _Do These Protons Make My Mass Look Big_ , a faint blue glow emanated in the space between your bodies. You raised your head curiously as the glow slowly brightened, casting a soft flush of cerulean across your darkened bedroom. Your hand drifted over the light, creating a faint shadow of waving columns across the far wall. The closer you moved to the source of the glow, the bigger and crisper your hand became and you waggled fingers until you gently tapped against ribs, drumming them thoughtfully lost in the moment.

There was a soft rumble and a sleepy amused voice answered, “who’s there?”

 Oh, geeze. You were literally knocking on his bones and you ducked your head against his shoulder, cheeks growing warm. “Me,” you whispered back as you felt a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

“oh, hello me.” You could hear the smile in his words. “come in.”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

**ALPHYNE (UT Undyne/UT Alphys)**

Watching Lesser Dog drive the last stake into the tent with the determined frenzied he gave his former snow sculptures, Alphys wiped her brow and took a step back to survey the work. The tent leaned a little too precariously to the right and the bottom left of the flooring was starting to lift until Greater Dog drove his spear down through it, entertaining a massive loud rip that filled the surrounding forest. The scientist rubbed her brow with a squint from the afternoon sun that reflected off her glasses and sighed.

“You g-guys are…” She tried to find the right way to voice her precise thoughts. “are t-t-terrible at this.” Greater yipped at her, wagging his tail. “But, but! T-that’s okay. I can w-work with terrible. I think. Wait, where’s Undyne?”

Sitting on a tree stump smoking, Doggo shrugged his shoulders, watching the group intently. “Left.”

“What? When? W-why?” Alphys turned around to scan the clearing, catching the Dogi nuzzling each other in front of their finished tent. Somewhere in the brush Endogeny roamed around. There was no telltale sign of the towering fish monster anywhere.

Doggo shrugged again, crushing the burnt dog bone under his boot and stood. “Fire wood. Said she’d be right back.”

“W-when was that?”

Another shrug. “An hour ago?”

That didn’t sound right. Had she really been trying to get the tents up that whole time? When Undyne had asked her to go camping, she had expected starlit nights and sleeping cuddled together in the same sleeping bag, sharing giggles and kisses. Alphys blushed something awful and was glad Doggo couldn’t make out the glow beneath her scales. She hadn’t expected to share space and Undyne with the former Guard and was more than surprised to have them tagging along.

Worrying her claws at the edge of her shirt, Alphys glanced behind her. “I-I’m going to go find U-undyne.”

“Suit yourself.” Doggo clambered away, drawn to Greater Dog as he lumbered about in search of a snack and received a few excited barks and licks in a greeting before being promptly bowled over by Lesser Dog. “Knock it off!” His yell drew the Dogi and they joined in with a cherry “Dog (Pile!)” and promptly smothered the former guard under a pile of wriggling armor and fur.

Alphys tugged on the hem of her jean jacket decorated in cute patches and pins, shifting from one foot to the other and dug her toes into the soft soil as she imagined every possible awful scenario that may or may not be happening to Undyne that very moment. The dogs didn’t seem too concerned and she jumped when a cold nose bumped her from behind, Endogeny returning from their sniffing adventure. They whined before being awkwardly patted and snuffed along her jacket pocket at the treats they could smell before the dog pile distracted them.

Was she really going to do this? Just wander off into the woods? She steeled herself. For Undyne. Taking a deep breath, Alphys picked a direction toward the setting sun and stalked off. She managed a good dozen feet from the campsite before a familiar voice yelled at her.

“Hey babe!”

Alphys whipped her head up and her soul dropped into her stomach. “W-what are you doing up there?!” Craning her head to look past the spiked helm of her brow, she spotted Undyne sitting halfway up a towering tree, one hand wrapped around the thick truck for support.

“Sup baby!” Undyne waved theatrically, swaying heavily on the branch she sat perched on and leered down at the small yellow monster.

“G-get down from there!”

“Never!”

The cheeky grin made her set her hands on her hips at her ridiculous girlfriend. “Don’t m-m-make me get the Guard.”

Undyne laughed raucously before climbing to her feet, the branch swaying more ominously under the shift of weight. “I’ll fight them!”

Alphys sputtered, digging around in her pockets for something to help her and brushed against a small rectangular shape. “I uh, I have…” She pulled out a crumpled red box, hearing the rattle of a few broken pieces of chocolate covered cookie sticks inside. “I have pocky!”

The aquatic monster stared solemnly down at her with an eerie intensity that had Alphys dropping her waving hand of Japanese treats to her side. Without another word, Undyne climbed down quickly, scaling the tree with ease and landed with a resounding thump in front of the scientist. She stood slowly, flipping crimson hair over a bare shoulder and stalked forward making Alphys shrink back as the single yellow eye focused on her.

Undyne set a hand on a slim, cocked hip and bent until she was nose to snout with the other and took note of the golden flush of scales. So cute. There was a rustle of the cardboard box before a broken cookie was raised in trembling claws and with a grin, Undyne took a bite out of the proffered treat. “I totally would have fought them."

“I know.”

Undyne’s lips curled at the timid smile and stole a quick kiss on the cheek before hoisting her adorable girlfriend into her arms, enjoying the squeak of surprise. “Lets go skinny dipping!”

 “Undyne, no!”

~*~*~*~*~

Here were a few fontcest/skeleton fics that were moved [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988244/chapters/32208087).


	10. Mephitic - Undertale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _Angry Papyrus._
> 
> For [SansyFresh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SansyFresh/pseuds/SansyFresh). This isn’t really a prompt but rather our desire for an angry Pap. Based off their fic; [ Can Anybody Find Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10322786). You’ll have to have read it for this to make sense. Please mind the tags and warnings for both fics. Decided to throw this under Undertale instead of the more broader, Multiverse world despite it having more than the Classic bros in it. Papyrus is probably wildly OOC but I wanted to write this, so there.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Violence, blood, some light torture, language, allude to abuse and rape, alcohol mention. This isn’t my usual shit posting Papyrus. This… went places.

The dull throb of a headache was the first thing to return to him and the man let out a low, pained groan that made his chest twinge annoyingly. His shoulders and back ached as he tried to sit up to alleviate the odd pulling sensation and as his other senses returned and mind cleared from the fog of pain, he tried to make sense of where he was. His vision blurred and swam before the man tilted his head up at the overhanging light, a single yellow bulb that had seen better days flickered back, humming quietly. A small white moth fluttered around it, thunking rhythmically against it in a fruitless attempt to get closer. The air was cold and smelled stale and putrid around him but he was certainly indoors, the faint light giving him a vague sense of the enclosed space around him. Moving to stand, the man grunted as he was jerked back and realized the ache in his arms was due to the bindings that kept him rooted to a chair.

Panic swelled in him as he instinctively struggled around the ties, feeling the thin plastic cutting into his wrists as he twisted them wildly. He kicked to stand and found his ankles in a similar tie, his jeans and socks folded neatly to expose his bare ankle to the zip ties, leaving him zero room to wriggle free. What the hell was going on! How did he get here?! The man racked his queasy memory of what had transpired to bring him to this moment and came up with a lot of drinking at a bar with some old buddies. There wasn’t much he could remember after that. He squinted into the darkness in an attempt to see past the small ring of light provided and heard a creak of an old door from far away. A shaft of light shone through, silhouetting a tall figure but they were too far away to make out details and then the door was closed, cutting off his sight. The man rocked in the chair again, straining against the ties.

Something sticky plastered his hair to his brow and right temple, obscuring part of his vision and no amount of metal thrashing would clear it. He tensed at a faint scuffling to the right of him and snapped his head in the direction, startling when a record scratch broke the strained silence. The faint crackle of a voice through old speakers crooned a single word, the worn edges of the record could be felt in the texture of the piano trickling in as the leader singer drew the syllable out in a silky note, allowing three more to chime in perfect harmony. Somewhere in the depths of his heavy breathing, cloudy mind and burgeoning fear, he could almost recognize the tune.

The humming light bulb and moth became one in a sudden crescendo high pitched whine and blew out with a muffled pop, bathing the man in absolute darkness. “Fuck,” he hissed, struggling with a renewed vigor and only stilled when the scuffling moved toward him. Fear prickled along his neck, sending a chill along his skin and he pressed back into the chair when he felt the scuffling take shape in front of him, still too dark to make anything out. Something metallic squeaked above him and he flinched, squinting again to try and make anything out of the darkness.

The light flickered back on and it took everything in him to not scream. The curved bulb was grasped by graceful skeletal fingers and twisted one more time to ensure a tight fit before dropping down to dangle beside a towering creature that loomed over him. Hollow eye sockets set in a lean skull of ivory bone stared passively down at him before the skeletal hand lofted to teasingly brush the air beside his head. “Ah, you’re awake.” The natural boisterous tone associated with the monster was subdued, quiet, unnerving in a way he couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I am sorry to have hit you so hard. I’m afraid, I don’t know my own strength.”

“Papyrus?!” The man sputtered, instantly recognize the skeleton as his body lurched against his bonds, struggling once more with feeling as a stream of incoherent half thoughts tumbled out. “What the fuck, Papyrus? What’s going on?! What the hell are you doing? Let me go!”

The named skeleton tipped his skull slightly before raising a scolding finger and tutted. “Not just yet, human.” Instead of the usual cheery cadence associated with the general term he’d become accustomed to, it sounded cold and sterile. “You are I are long overdue for a con-,” Papyrus bopped the human on the nose lightly, “ver-,” again, “sa-,” a little harder, “tion.” That one stung and the man jerked away before he could be poked again. The outstretched finger wavered as if debating on jabbing him once more. “Not that you have any say in the matter,” he chuckled, dropping his hand.

“Do you like Queen?” The bound human furrowed his brow at the odd question, the faint music in the background slotting into his memory. “They’ve come to grow on me after my years on the surface. I regret never having the chance to hear Freddie Mercury in person. Did you ever meet him? You certainly look old enough to have met him. These deep set wrinkles and liver spots agree with me.” He poked the human again.

Taking a step back, Papyrus turned on his heel and stepped out of the circle of light, disappearing into the darkness. A moment later he reappeared, dragging a chair nosily across the cement floor to plant it squarely in front of the man. He adjusted it slightly before lowering himself into the seat, sitting poised and back straight. He crossed an ankle over a knee and folded his hands in his lap, staring curiously at the human. The silenced waned into an uncomfortable stretch punctuated by the occasional struggle of the human. Papyrus watched vaguely amused, his natural smile tighter than usual and the normal pinprick of eye lights were sharp and crisp. He gave a quiet polite clearing of his throat, drawing the attention of the other and offered in an unconcerned tone, “Before we begin, is there anything you’d like to say first?”

“W-what?”

Papyrus gave the human a knowing look, the amusement more prominent in the quirk of his mouth. He worked on the delicate silver button cuffs at his sleeve, rolling the length up in three precise folds to his elbow before starting on the other. “No need to play coy. I know I can get a little carried away when I start talking and then it’s near impossible to get a word in edgewise.” His gaze never wavered as phalanges caught the top button of his shirt and undid it, revealing a sliver of collarbone.

“Let me go, Papyrus.”

The knowing look shifted into exasperation, amusement hardening around the invisible crease of his eye sockets. “I’ve already told you, not until we’ve talked.” He gave a light shake of his head and ran the palms of his hands down his thighs, smoothing out the material of his dark slacks. “I don’t know what my brother ever saw in you. You are, without a doubt, mundane in every possible sense. I never much cared for your mannerisms or your pitiful attempt at fashion.” He gave a nod toward the stained, ratty band shirt and dirty, ripped jeans.

Papyrus sighed deeply, drawing unneeded air through his nose and exhaled before moving to stand, the move fluid despite the heavy drop of his shoulders. “I wanted Sans to be happy,” he started, divulging what was widely known as if it was a great secret and moved to slowly circle around the human. “He sacrificed so much in the Underground. Not that you would know anything about sacrifice. When he first told me about you, I was elated.”

The monster stood behind the man, resting hands on his shoulders and felt the jump of muscle under his bones. “You don’t even know what a treasure my brother is.” He gripped tightly, pressing fingertips until he could feel the bruises forming in the soft flesh and only when the human whimpered, did he let go. “Sometimes I wonder,” he muttered as if talking to himself, “if Sans doesn’t realize how amazing he truly is.”

“Tell me.” He plucked at the man’s rumpled collar, smoothing it of its deep set wrinkles and rubbed a thumb against a dried blood spot. “What was it that first drew you to him? Don’t be modest, I know how cool my big brother is, but I always like to hear an outsider’s thoughts.”

The man stuttered, tripping over words he couldn’t formulate and Papyrus took pity on him. “Take your time. I know listing all of Sans’ perfections can be a bit overwhelming.” Boney fingers rubbed soothingly over his shoulder at the sudden influx of the human’s shuddering breath. “Shh, shh, take a deep breath, there you go. Let it out slowly.”

He found himself complying with the gentle suggestion from the collected skeleton. In all of his time of knowing Papyrus, he’d never seen the younger brother this subdued and it was disconcerting in an odd way. He tried tipping his head to look at him and felt the throb of pain, eliciting a hiss of discomfort. The fingers tapped impatiently, waiting for an answer.

“H-his smile?” He tried weakly.

“What else?”

“Uh, I…” Fuck what else was there. Thoughts were struggling to form, overridden by the unnerving chill and dread of the situation. It felt like some horrible hangover dream, he’d wake up in the morning sleeping a bender off on his bathroom floor with a splitting headache. “He’s a funny guy.”

The frown Papyrus directed at him could be felt in the tightening of fingers and the man winced. “Everything?”

Papyrus hummed and nodded thoughtfully. “He is my everything,” he professed softly, the hint of a smile reflecting in the gentle undertones of affection. “I would do anything for him. I would give my right arm, as the saying goes.” The monster shifted. “Would you?!”

Orange magic crackled into existence, overshadowing the raised tone with a snap and exhale of power, something big and large looming on the edge of existence that made his hair stand on end and chilled him. A bone in the shape of translucent orange, so very befitting the jovial skeleton, coalesced into the air in front of the man. Soft edges and a blunt tip formed first before the edges crumbled into a sharpened, ragged point and he stared wide eyed at the display before a skeletal hand plucked it from the air, twisting it toward his right bicep and pressed lightly. It neatly sliced through the old, tattered shirt sleeve, drawing a line of red through the material and a heated burn that startled him.

“No! No, no, please!” The man sobbed, strung out drunken emotions snapping when the burn deepened and his skin felt like it was blistering under the flair of magic. “I’m sorry!”

The cry stilled the monster, pausing long enough to make the human squirm away from the sharp edge of bone. He didn’t dare look to see the damage that had been done, it felt like the magical construct was buried halfway in him.

Papyrus relented, bringing the bone away and glanced at the thin line of red and a single bead of blood that seeped from the tiny cut. He spun the human around, chair scraping the ground loudly and gripped the man’s face in one elegant hand, fingers indenting skin along his jaw to jerk his head up to met his. Tangerine magic wisping into deep corals and fiery tones blazed in the empty eye sockets, burning fiercely and unrestrained. His grin was stretched tight into a painful heartbroken grimace.

“Is that what he said?!” Papyrus snarled, fingers tightening around the corded column of his throat, “Did he beg you to stop?!”

The heartbeat beneath his bones pulsed a fearful mantra, still ever a marvel to the monster at how close life fluttered at the surface for humans. The man gagged against the pressure and Papyrus let him go with a shove, disgusted at the sound and mess that would accompany the sounds if he continued. Humans were nauseating at times. He absently brushed his hand across the side of his pants and let the bone construct wisp away into nothing as the magic faded from his sockets, leaving them dark and empty. His hand found the back of the chair, turning it back to its original position, the heft of the man moved effortlessly. “When…” He eased the resignation from his tone. “did it start?” Heavy breathing answered him. “When was the first time you laid your ill intentioned hands on my brother?”

“You’re crazy!” The man snapped and arched his head to spit at Papyrus, catching him across the mandible and right socket. Hot panic flushed across his skin, making his stomach churn angrily and he swallowed bile. “All you monsters are a bunch of fuckin’ freaks! Made outta magic bullshit!”

With a grim calmness, Papyrus drew his ring finger beneath his socket wiping away the spittle and nonchalantly brushed it on the man’s shoulder. “That may very well be, but we are also made of love.” He tipped his gaze to drift tiredly away at the surrounding darkness, voice dropping as if distracted by what he was looking at. “Something you clearly lack.” With a renounced sigh and slight nod of his head he straightened, tugging on the edge of his shirt to smooth invisible wrinkles. “I always believed anyone could be great, if they just tried. But, I think you’re a great bag of colossal waste and Sans can do so much better.”

Dread and fury rolled together, easily crashing into each other to twist inside the man. Leftover drunken rage all too easy to take over, clouding his already fuzzy mind. “You think so?” He scoffed, violence winning over preservation, boiling anger that made it effortless to throw a punch and break a bone. “He liked it,” he continued with a sneer watching the monster stiffen before taking an all too casual step away, “moaned like a whore when I fucked him. Cried too.” Leaning forward as far as his binds would allow him, he tried to meet Papyrus’ gaze. “Do you think he’ll ever forget my face?”

Papyrus shifted, snapping a hand out and a small blue bone sailed through the air toward the human. It passed through him harmlessly, having neither the time nor ability to move out of the way and only when it passed through his chest did he jerk out of reflex and a startled yelp was wrenched from him. The bawl was enough to draw Papyrus back and regain his composure and ease the tension from his shoulders. 

“Are you a fan of puzzles?” he asked, the cheerful tone out of place and gave an unabashed grin. “I’ve dabbled in my fair share of them. I made this one especially for you.” Without waiting for a reply, he wandered off into the veil of darkness, leaving the man to struggle again for a few quick moments before he was back and set a small contraption down on his empty chair. He stepped back to allow the human to see it fully.

The man stared at it, unsure exactly what he was looking at but there was the distinct smell of gasoline and he shifted nervously, stilling when Papyrus pulled a lighter from his pant’s pocket. The single click made him flinch and tense when the monster lit the small thin white candle atop of it, so very reminiscent of something you’d find atop a birthday cake.

“Considering it’s you, I’ve made this as simplistic as possible. Even a baby could solve it.” Papyrus snapped the lighter closed, pocketing it. “All you have to do is slip from your binds and extinguish the flame. If not…” He cocooned his hands, made a soft breathy explosion sound while widening his fingers to illustrate the blast.

The human struggled valiantly, rocking in the chair.

Papyrus gave him a few moments before continuing. “I’ll tell you what. I’m a fair monster, so if you can make me laugh, I’ll let you go. I’m very fond of my brother’s puns but unfortunately I’ve built up quite an immunity to them. I’ll give you exactly one minute.” He paused long enough to bring out his pocket watch and watched the seconds tick by. “Go.”

“Papyrus!” The man shouted, lunging forward and tipping the chair precariously on two feet before it slammed down. “This is crazy! You’re insane!”

Tapping his foot, Papyrus glanced at the watch. “Forty-five seconds, human.”

It was a sobering reminder and as he heaved against the restraints feeling like they were budging fractions at a time, the man shifted his focus and grasped for meager excuses. “I-I…” he stuttered, scrounging for words, “I was drunk. He, he told me he liked it rough. Please,” he pleaded, straining again with his head bowed, voice growing weaker, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“ **W h a t   d i d   y o u   d o   t o   m y   b r o t h e r?** ”

The resonating force of the strained words pressed down on him in a suffocating bleakness, each syllable stressed to the point of breaking. Against the swell of new fear, he dared to meet the stoic eye sockets and startled at the icy darkness staring back. He worked his jaw, mouth having gone dry and he gaped pathetically like a fish and his shoulders slumped.

“Twenty seconds.”

The pocket watch creaked in Papyrus’ grip and his arm trembled ever so faintly, the rattle of bone muffled by his clothing but the human didn’t seem to notice. His slumped shoulders made his captor bristle but he smoothed any outward show of emotions. A vague sound emanated from the man but anything he wanted to stay remained silent as time slipped by in an awful span of continuing silence. He was afraid. The fear was as palpable as the stench that surrounded them, barely masking the foulness that wafted from the man himself. 

He had been so easy to track down, an effortless search really, as if he didn’t care that he could be. Papyrus had found him slumped over drunk in a seedy bar he routinely frequented. Sans had occasionally been in there mostly to bring the drunkard home to sleep off his inebriation and Papyrus wondered… He couldn’t stop himself. Fell had been forthright with him, but how much had Sans actually told them? He needed to know.

“I want to hear it from you.” The monotonous command masked his desperation

If it was even more possible the man slumped further, straining the bonds that were no doubt leaving raw bleeding marks. The discomfort would mean little once he was done. As if waiting for the goad, the human began talking, halting every now and then as each and every terrible detail was laid bare. He winced, hearing himself out loud of the marks he would leave behind, the stains and tears and broken bones. The high associated with some of his fun butted against the dread of having everything laid bare, especially with the brother of his former toy staring down at him.

Papyrus remained still, the stony silence weighing heavily in his bones as numbness set in and his soul pulsed oddly in his chest, resonating with a low, deep ache that droned on in long thrums. Each new one brought forth a burst of fresh pain that faded into a growing hum in his skull, overlapping one another in ripples. He distantly heard the rhythmic scratch of the record player, long since reached the end. It was background noise to the building roar in his head. Something inside of him trembled, scratching at the edges of his conscious, clawing to climb its way outward. A bittersweet flicker of magic along the joints of fingers clenched around his pocket watch flared eagerly at the unspoken. His breath left him in slow shuddery exhales, giving himself something else to focus on as he grappled with the blossom of unaccustomed rage that left his bones stinging and soul wanting.

“Please,” the man said weakly, tears prickling his eyes as the candle melted further.

What did his soul want? He stared unseeing, chasing his magic’s eagerness, the greed and ravenousness desire that would devour Sans’ pain and make it fade from memory and soul. What would heal his brother? What would make everything right? Papyrus blinked and relaxed, shoulders dropping and the hum of magic filling the warehouse faded. The building manifestation of fury dissolved before it could fully form from the shadows over his shoulder and for the briefest of moments, the devil leered from the darkness.

“Oh human,” Papyrus tsked, “Tears wont sway me.” and chuckled briefly before adopting a feign of surprise. “Oh, will you look at it?” He tucked his pocket watch away with a slow shake of his head. “It looks like you have bested me this time. I am a gracious monster and accept my defeat.” He gave a bow of his head and a sweep of his hand before turning to walk away.

“W-wait!” The man’s voice rose and cracked from the emotional overuse. “You said you’d let me go?!” He stared desperately at the back of Papyrus, making out the vague shapes of his bones beneath clothing and the shoulder blades twitched before one shifted higher, signaling he was turning and hunched in relief before snapping his head up at the cold monotone response.

“You’re a tough, strong man.” Papyrus glanced over his shoulder. “Surely if you can raise a hand to a kind and gentle monster, then you are capable of anything.”

“You… You’re fucking crazy!”

“Don’t waste your limited vocabulary on me, I haven’t the stomach for it.” Papyrus gave a soft genuine laugh before throwing a casual wave over his shoulder, leaving the circle of light. A moment later there was a squeak of a door opening and just enough light flooded the warehouse to make out the towering stacks around the man. It was too dark to read the names of the plastic bags piled high but the awful, earthy smell finally made sense. Several bags of compost had been cut open, spilling their contents in heaping mounds, all strategic in their placement.q

“Papyrus!” He screamed at the open door, freedom so tantalizing close. His efforts redoubled and he strained, shoving, pushing and violently jerking against his restraints and felt the give again. He rocked combatively and heard the creak of wood giving in. Something was going to break, be it him or the chair, it didn’t matter as survival kicked into overdrive. He kept looking up at the door expecting the skeleton brother to reappear, tell him this was some awful joke to set him right, to save him at the last moment. There was no way this was the gentle souled monster, it had to be one of his weird copies. He groaned, voice straining as a vein bulged in his forehead and something snapped, nearly toppling him over and then he was free.

Hysterical laughter bubbled out of him as he wriggled his arms and shifted his feet to stand, finding he couldn’t budge. He tried again and when he looked down to see what was still holding him back, he caught the horrifying sight of his soul turned blue. The faint sizzle of the candle reaching the gasoline dragged his reluctant gaze upward with a snivel.

Papyrus returned home in the early morning, wearily dragging himself inside and quietly closed the door behind him. He was only minutely surprised to find the door unlocked. It was still dark enough, he knew there’d only be one individual up and without bothering to shed his shoes or jacket, made his way toward the kitchen at the familiar sounds drifting from it. Leaning against the doorframe, he watched Fell putter around, mechanically pouring himself a cup of coffee. There were dark lines under his sockets and his clothes were rumpled enough to know he hadn’t slept at all. It was a rare moment to find the darker monster unguarded.

Sensing the other, he turned and stared at his alternate with an unreadable expression that made Papyrus straighten under the probing look. He met the crimson eye lights unflinchingly and knew how he appeared. The silence lapsed between them until Fell gestured to his own cheek and Papyrus mirrored it, scratching at the dried blood until the other nodded.

In the silent understanding, Papyrus uncharacteristically rubbed a hand over the back of his skull, rubbing briefly at the soreness in his cervical spine and headed upstairs without a word. The floorboards creaked as he traipsed down the hallway to the door at the end and pushed it open, pausing long enough to let his eyes adjust to the darkened room. His gaze landed on Sans sleeping curled up on his bed with the others tucked around him in a nest of blankets and pillows. There hadn’t been enough room for all of them, but they made due. Papyrus’s hand drifted to his mouth, pressing against his teeth to quiet the sounds welling inside of him and swallowed the invisible lump down.

Sans was swaddled in Red’s old jacket, the bigger skeleton pressed against his back, one arm wrapped around him protectively in a gentle hug. Stretch sat half propped against the far wall, legs hanging off the small bed with Blue curled up in his lap. The other two used him as a makeshift pillow. Stretch had one arm around his brother while the other rested atop of Sans’ shoulder. Blue awkwardly folded himself to be able to press an open palm to the top of Sans’ head, the other gripping a handful of his brother’s orange hoodie. Sans slept in a tight, tense ball with his head burrowed in the fluffy lining of the black and gold jacket.

 _Protected. Loved. Safe. Cherished. Safe… Safe… Safe…_

The waves of different magic cascaded against one another, tenderly embracing and rolling away in a protective aura around his brother. Red’s was thick and heavy, like a barrier against the outside world while Blue’s was gentle and comforting, Stretch’s falling over them to link them together in kinship and affection. He could still feel Fell’s magic like a vigilant guardian. Papyrus let the others magic wash over him, soothing his exhaustion before he quietly made his way to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge. Ever so gently he caressed his brother’s head, carefully moving around Blue’s fingers. Sans stirred at the new touch, flinching instinctively and whined softly. His brow scrunched before his eyes opened, revealing empty sockets.

“bro?” He voice was raspy from sleep, but Papyrus doubted he had gotten any actual rest.

He hushed him with a gentle soothing sound. “You’re safe now, dear brother.” He bent and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, lingering briefly and a soft, warm glow resonated between them. Sans immediately relaxed under the magic of his brother, sockets fluttering closed and he sighed softly, snuggling back into the jacket. “He wont hurt you ever again. I promise.”

Downstairs, Fell wandered out into the living room, picking up the remote from where it lay and flipped on the television, keeping the volume on low. He watched an emergency news report flash across the screen about a massive fire in the warehouse district and listened as the reporter droned on in basic details, ending on the police suspecting a local arsonist. He blew lightly across his coffee before taking a sip.


	11. Stupid Mutt - Swapfell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a lot of different headcanons for these two, this is sorta a happier version of one. While this isn’t specifically written as fontcest, feel free to read it as such. Mostly written with a slightly dubious brotherly love. This went a little different than I had intended and decided not to write a good half of what I had planned and kept it as is. I hope it works.
> 
> I got myself a [NSFW tumblr](https://blue-means-stop.tumblr.com), dedicated to mostly Undertale and you’re more than welcome to check it out and bug me. Because it is NSFW, I ask that you be 18 years or older to follow. I reblog a lot of fontcest stuff and I occasionally toss some of my art and fics on there too. Just a reminder, I often work up to 80 hrs a week, so not much goes on there unless I have a day off.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Fontcest if you squint, physical and some mental abuse.

“STUPID MUTT.” The growl was heavy and rich, textured in sound and emotion and the little guard kicked harshly at the kneeling fool in the snow, splattering slush along the weathered jacket trimmed in fur in the process. There was no real attempt to remove it, only a passing interest when it slicked down the front to pat quietly to the ground in the echoing silence. 

It was sharp enough to connect and Papyrus could feel the deep ache along his ribs, not strong enough to crack, but enough to know his brother’s anger. He took it quietly without an outwardly wince of pain and accepted it with a subtle bow of his head. The passive response only seemed to anger Sans further who then snatched the metal loop of his collar to haul him up to eye level, forcing Papyrus to stretch upwards and balance awkwardly on his knees. He wobbled and his arms drifted outward to steady to himself, refusing to lean on the smaller even as he jerked the collar a second time to bring him nearly flush against him.

“WHAT DID YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING TO ACCOMPLISH LIKE THIS?!” The gloved hand tightened around the signature strip of red studded leather, pulling it taunt to where he could feel Sans’ fingers dig into the front of his cervical spine and he fought the urge to swallow the imaginary lump. 

The frosty blue of Sans’ eye lights narrowed decidedly and calculating at the tiny, hazy pin prick eye lights that could barely focus on him and in the quiet of the surrounding forest he could hear the labored, quiet breath Papyrus desperately tried to control. There was a fresh sheen to his brow and he could smell the sickness on him. A taint of magic, muddling the scent of bone and he trembled faintly though not for the dark look Sans gave him. The guard gave another rough tug and his brother jerked to stay upright. “HUH?!” 

He was prompted to actually answer and Papyrus offered a slurred, unfocused, “sorry, m’lord.” He was shoved harshly back to sit on his haunches and the collar released in an angry push to allow Sans to stalk back and forth in front of him in blurs of the royal Guard’s familiar uniform, vivid, stark colors cutting against the wintery background of the surrounding forest. The oddity of a blue scarf wound around his neck, tucked into the uniform, shredded and patched with a misplaced tenderness and care ill fitting of their realm.

“-AN ABSOLUTE WASTE OF MY VALUABLE TIME.”

Papyrus had lost his focus again and struggled to listen, the chill of the melting snow seeping into his clothes helped to concentrate through the sluggish haze of his thoughts. It stung his already cold bones but he felt hot and trapped in the thick, warm coat that he refused to take off. He sufficed by unzipping it, allowing the faded orange sweater to peek through. It offered little difference.

“I HAVE TO COME DOWN HERE FOR MY IDIOTIC BROTHER. AND, _ONLY_ AFTER HEARING IT THROUGH THE BUNNY SQUAD.” Sans’ hands clenched at his sides, drawn up as if ready to swing or strangle Papyrus, he wasn’t certain which and knew he only wanted to do both. The fury rolled off of him in agitated waves of magic and his shoulders tensed, striding gait reduced to stomping as if trying to smash the ground down with each step of a pointed heel.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY CONCEPT OF HOW THAT REFLECTS ON ME? NO, OF COURSE NOT.” Sans didn’t give him room to answer, not that he expected one. “HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LIKE THiS?” He snapped and for a brief moment couldn’t hide the underlying concern in his voice, the way it caught on the last word, so easily mistaken for cracking with unstrained anger. He can’t be weak here, not out in the open and though it’s only the two of them at the farthest station outside of Snowdin, they do not have the luxury of relaxing their guard. There was always someone watching.

“m’lord…”

How could he have not seen the signs. Sans restrained himself from wringing his hands and tucked them behind his back, lacing fingers around the ulna and radius of his opposite arm and squeezed painfully. Papyrus hadn’t given him any indication. In fact, it felt too eerily perfect in every annoying detail. He’d hardly given his brother any real thought that morning, hyper focused on the monthly reports due, Alphys breathing down his neck to get them done. Shucking her responsibilities on him yet again to fraternize with the scientist. It had taken the normal few times to rouse Papyrus from his bed, the third time actually shoving him out of the disgusting trash heap he called a room and made sure he didn’t break his neck clomping down the stairwell to eat the now cold breakfast. Papyrus was undeserving of a warm meal if he couldn’t do something as simple as waking up in time.

“m’lord?”

Papyrus had picked at his food, smiling tiredly at Sans as he riffled through the reports at the dinner table, something he usually didn’t do. He sipped from his coffee, noting it had been refilled twice without so much as demanding it before he had to break for their shifts. Ushering the taller brother out for his sentry post, he hadn’t bothered to watch Papyrus sluggishly make his way off at a much more subdued pace before whirling around to head off to Waterfall.

Sans didn’t start when he felt the lightest touch on his hand but it brought him around in the same alarming clarity to realize he’d grabbed ahold of Papyrus’ collar again, yanking it with enough force to hear his brother wheeze.

Papyrus looked up at him, a worried tilt of his skull as he continued to trail trembling phalanges against the red leather glove, pressing just enough to be felt. He had answered obediently but Sans was miles away in thought and that was never a good sign. He tried, carefully. “it’s not your fault.”

“OF COURSE IT’S NOT!” Sans barked and didn’t take the usual pleasure in the wounded look he received. “STAND UP!” He sneered, masking the concern again in a taunt, releasing his hold on his brother before he could lean into the comforting touch. He pulled out a length of matching red and the leash jangled in his hand when he gave it a quick shake. “IF YOU CAN.”

It was a challenge and a concern and it jumbled together in Papyrus’ mind and he stood shakily at the command, rising up to his full height to loom over his little lord. He bowed slightly, allowing Sans to attach the leash to his collar without having to stand on tiptoe, however amusing it was to the taller brother. Papyrus remained hunched, a familiar sight as he hid shaky hands in the oversized pockets of his open jacket. The magic in his joints felt thin and every movement jostled him in a way that felt he going to comically fall apart into nothing but a pile of bones. He ached from head to toe, a deep pain that throbbed in time with his Soul like a false heartbeat. His usual lackluster focus had been dulled into a long narrow tunnel and he hadn’t even noticed his brother had stalked up to his station in a cloud of fury that he should have sensed. Tracking Sans’ magic was like breathing to him, innate, but being sick muddled his senses. He missed the electricity in the air, the smell of a storm brewing and rich undeterminable spices that seemed to permeate both the skeleton and his magic. God, he needed a cigarette bad, something to take the edge off and help him refocus.

Papyrus glanced down when his belt was tugged on and Sans tucked the handle of the leash into his pant’s pocket and stepped back, signifying a simple message. He was tethered to his lord but allowed to act on his own accord. It was a rarity for them to use the leash in public, reserved for enforcing a dominance and cowing the pathetic guard dog of a little brother the even rarer times he acted out. The leash held an important status. Papyrus could be volatile, proven in the past for the few unfortunate who tried to harm his lord and like the bad dog persona he feigned, only Sans could control him. It doubled as a warning and he understood the significance of it.

“HOME. NOW.” The guard spun on his heel and marched back toward town, refusing to look over his shoulder to make sure Papyrus was following. He didn’t need to and ignored the creeping concern that nagged at him. The younger struggled to keep up, straying a few good feet behind but Sans didn’t let up on his brisk pace as they neared Snowdin. As expected the leash kept the curious monster at bay, a scruffy looking Icedrake leered from the shelter of the tree line but didn’t advance any further, merely watched with sunken eyes and a low growl.

The dilapidated sign, paint long since faded into muted hues of its former glory came into view and Papyrus was never more thankful to see the awful edge of town. They were almost home. His breath was ragged and loud in his ears, teeth clamped tightly enough to make the golden canines shift painfully and he felt like he was walking on rubber. Each jostling step and slide in the dirty snow felt like a battle to stay upright and he felt himself veering slightly to the right. He wished Sans would ease up on the brutal pace and as if reading his thoughts, paused at the sign to eye it with a disgusted sniff. Someone had vandalized the sign, scratching out the S and the N and added a crude E at the end. _Now Die_. He certainly felt like he could.

Sans gave the sign just enough interest to allow Papyrus a moment to stagger to a stop behind him before moving on, making a note to pass word back to the Bunny Squad to take care of it. As little order as there was in the Underground, the Guard were still regarded as law and with Sans second under Alphys, like hell he was going to let some miscreants think these micro aggressions would be allowed.

Papyrus obediently fell into line albeit a touch slower as his sneakers dragged through the snow until they were on the main thoroughfare that ran through town where the greyed snow was compacted into the vagueness of a road. They made their way through the town with little fanfare, monsters all too eager to shy away from the Guard. The few foolish enough to linger were greeted with a haggard but glowering Papyrus. He was so busy giving the nosy Dogi couple who ran the inn the stink eye, he nearly tripped over his own feet and stumbled before catching himself.

He saw Sans curl his hands into fists but his stride never wavered and Pap chuckled, voice hoarse, at himself. He was just ol’ dumb drunk Papyrus, his lord taking him home yet again. The fact they were already past Muffet’s helped the illusion. The skeleton hunkered into his stifling jacket and ducked his head sheepishly for good measure. The rest of the walk went unhindered and relief flooded him when he ducked to enter their home, making sure to bolt and lock the door. He leaned his forehead against the reinforced wood, feeling the protective barrier magic thrum through the structure and it felt chilly against his heated bone.

Sans tugged at his gloves, pulling them off smoothly and set them beside the smashed remains of their pet rock, previous fury smoothed away into a sleek mask of mild boredom. “MUTT.” He commanded sharply and missed the hunched shoulders rise as his brother struggled to straighten. “YOU STINK OF FOUL MAGIC. GO UPSTAIRS AND SHOWER.” He stalked off toward the kitchen, leaving Papyrus to comply according.

“m’lord…” The muttered reply faded into a low groan, unable to protest further than a noise. The pounding in his head had doubled its effort, spiking from the base of his skull and arching painfully to his eye sockets where his vision drifted from hazy to completely gutting out. Standing was taking more and more effort and if he was going to make it up the stairwell, he was going to have to start moving. With a concentrated grunt, he pushed away from the front door and made a stuttering attempt for the stairs. He caught the banister, holding onto for dear life while his legs threatened to give out under him. The trembling had returned full force and he could faintly hear his own bones rattling. Papyrus tilted his head up to stare up the stairs and nearly toppled backwards at the sudden rush of vertigo. Maybe he was a lot sicker than he realized that morning.

Clawing at the railing, he raised a foot and brought it down on the first stair, pushed and pulled himself up and with a grunt, made it one entire step up. So far so good. He tried for the second and missed it, lurching forward and would have found himself with another gold tooth if not for the death grip he kept on the railing. Not so good. Lowering himself to kneel on the stairwell, it made the vertigo a little less severe and he was able to slowly crawl up them all the way to top before he woozily laid down to take a little break. From the waist down he was still draped down the stairs but progress was progress and he earned himself a breather and sucked in an achy lungful of air from the faded carpet underneath his nasal bone. It smelled faintly musty, being trekked on by too many wet shoes over the years.

Sans watched from the kitchen entryway, arms folded at the pathetic but diligent effort and refrained from rubbing his brow to ease the growing annoyance. Instead, he pressed sharpened fingertips to the edge of his sternum and rubbed at the equally annoying burn there, a low ache that felt like his ribs were trying to tighten and relax all at once. Why hadn’t his brother just told him he was sick that morning? He was not _that_ unreasonable. 

He was going to have to lecture his dog about his behavior. Sans closed his eye sockets. No, no, he rebuked himself and his fingers tightened around his humeri, squeezing purposefully until the pain was sharp and clear. They were home now, this was their place of safety where he didn’t need to be like that. Slowly he inhaled, held it and exhaled just as slowly and ignored the ache in the cracks that ran the length of his left socket. It was difficult to give up something so ingrained, something that had been bred from the desire for safeness, to protect his little brother by keeping him at arms length and simultaneously tethered to him. He hated how it bled so easily into their refuge, but he hated it more that Papyrus was so accepting of it.

The softest of eye lights, so faint you had to know they were actually there, always so kindly looking at him, compliant of the abuse the smaller brother threw at him. Disgust rolled against delight that he could bend the powerful monster so easily. How easy it would be to bend his brother until something broke. Sans was across the living room and halfway up the stairs before he realized what he was doing. Trudging up the narrow stairwell, he nudged the side of Papyrus’ sneaker with a boot. It earned him a faint groan of acknowledgement from the otherwise prone skeleton, one hand stretched out as if he intended to drag himself toward the bathroom.

It was becoming more and more difficult for Papyrus to focus, momentarily forgetting why he was laying on the landing of their second floor. His head swam, a horrible pressure behind his eye sockets making it difficult to concentrate as the dingy carpet faded in and out. The not so gentle brush of a foot against his own made him want to curl up. He dimly recognized the low thrum of displeasure radiating from his little guard before Sans huffed, annoyed and walked away. Muted footsteps made a path to one bedroom, then the other before the hall closet was opened and things were roughly tossed around. Papyrus struggled to lift his head, curling the tips of his phalanges for purchase to hoist himself up, feeling the heavy disappointment and wanted nothing more to please his brother.

Sans returned, walking past him and Papyrus tried to follow with his eyes, scraping his chin against the floor and he felt the shudder of cold pipes through the walls and floors as the bathroom tub hissed and sputtered as it was filled. Papyrus had managed to prop himself on quaking elbows, one leg tucked under him when his brother’s pristine boots filled his vision. Slowly, he lowered his forehead to press against one and was rewarded with a light kick that pushed him away smoothly. Small hands on his shoulders hauled him up awkwardly, forcing him to climb to his knees and his head lolled back to try and meet his lords and the hallway light blinded him.

Papyrus was unceremoniously hauled up to his feet, surprise evident in his features when he was dragged into the bathroom and dropped onto the, thankfully, closed toilet seat. The stifling heat of the small bathroom made him wince and he shrank back, numbly fumbling with his jacket. He sat sprawled uncomfortably, unable to gather the strength to sit up properly when the hands returned. Sliding underneath his jacket along his shoulders they helped him shrug it off, yanking arms through the sleeve and it was dropped on the floor. Papyrus struggled to relit his eyes, having gone dark to preserve his magic. Without them, everything was a haze of shadows against darker shadows. When he opened his mouth to talk, a skeletal hand pressed against his teeth and warning growl silenced him. Dutifully he remained quiet, breath heavy and labored over the tub filling and when the shadowy figure bent to untie his sneakers, he pressed a shaking palm to the smooth shape of a skull and got a sharp slap in response that left his wrist stinging.

The rest of his disrobing went uninterrupted and he didn’t have time to feel ashamed of being bared before he was hauled up on jelly legs and manhandled over to the tub, a shoulder supporting him and an arm wrapped around his hips. He nearly fell in when his legs gave out, half threatening to drag his helper with him. The curtain tore where he made a wild grab at it before sinking into the warm water though with the way he felt, it was like being submerged into the Core. He weakly thrashed, desperately grasping at the edges of the tub to pull himself out and water sloshed in thick splats on the tiled floor.

“PAPYRUS. STOP.”

His name spoken in his brother’s voice stilled him almost immediately and he sank into the water, going slack at the command. His ribs heaved and water burned the smoother inside of his bones. The monster pressed a hand against his sternum, over the weakly fluttering Soul caged in his chest. His eyes flickered briefly with vision, the small delicate round skull of Sans coming into view as he peered down at him, an uneasiness settling between the brow bones that had drawn together. It didn’t look right, unbefitting his strong lord and Papyrus smiled, unaware it looked more like a grimace and tried to reassure him he was fine. He didn’t want to be the cause of such worry, no matter how prettily it made him look. Anxious magic churned unrestrained and he felt himself being checked with more force intended and he shuddered at the intrusion before his vision swam and he sputtered on water as it slipped past his clenched jaw.

His brother’s scowl returned in an uneasy familiarity and Papyrus felt worn phalanges reach under his head, lifting him out of the water just enough to keep him from swallowing more. A washcloth pressed to his cheek, scrubbing roughly at the graying bone and he winched, the washing immediately halting. Before he could protest, the cloth returned and moved with a more gentle pressure, wiping carefully around his eye sockets, dipping back into the water to trail the warmth along his achy bones. Papyrus felt himself relaxing under the methodical ministrations, eye sockets falling closed again when his vision stuttered. The cloth moved further down to his neck, slipping between the small cervical vertebrae and he made a low sound, bordering on a purr. He thought there was a soft huff of laughter on the end but the focus it was taking to stay awake was using the last stretch of his energy. By the time he felt the washcloth brush against his clavicle, he was out.

Papyrus had no idea how much time has passed when he felt himself being laid down on something soft. It was dark but a soft light permeated the room just enough to illuminate it and he recognized his older brother’s room. He immediately recoiled and received a gentle cuff for his struggle. “Hush,” he heard the murmured voice and relaxed, panting softly from exertion. His bones tingled warmly from the bath and felt the familiar scratch of clean clothes but the downy feel of blankets around him didn’t feel right. It took him one long struggling moment to realize he was in Sans’ bed. It took another agonizing moment to realize his collar was missing. At the soft brush of a hand against his skull, he leaned pathetically into it and tipped his head to nuzzle it before it withdrew.

“I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU OUT OF THIS BED UNTIL YOU ARE WELL.” Papyrus could only offer a soft whine at the order. “YOUR SICKNESS IS A WEAKNESS AND I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO BE WEAK. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, PAPYRUS?”

“yes,” his voice sounded rough and it hurt to talk and he understood the careful phrasing, “yes, m’lord.”

The hand returned, thumb drifting just below an eye socket and Papyrus selfishly reveled in it and the soothing undercurrent of familiar magic and the strained emotions that drifted between the connection. They pulsed with a warmth reserved only for him. “YOU SHOULD HAVE COME TO ME.”

“sorry.”

“…NO. YOU’RE NOT.”

He flinched as if he had been caught in a lie and fought to sit up suddenly, to adamantly deny the accusation and a coughing fit robbed him of it, leaving him rasping for air. Sans was right though, he really wasn’t sorry though it’d been for a different matter. His brother had much more important matters to tend to and having to deal with his already lazy ass on a daily basis was more than his lord should have to bear. Feeling a little sick was all too easy to ignore in favor of watching him effortlessly tackle the extra work that morning. Always endeavoring, never failing. His big bro was so cool.

“PAPY,” the childhood nickname startled him to allow the small hand pressed against his sternum to push him firmly back until his head hit the pillow. It pressed gently and purposefully and Papyrus obeyed, stilling. “YOU MUST TRUST ME TO KNOW WHAT’S BEST FOR YOU.” The hand drifted away only to return to the slim cervical bones of his neck and he felt the roughness of his collar being buckled, pulled lightly in burning trails until it was straightened. “I WILL ALWAYS TAKE CARE OF YOU.”

Papyrus drug his arm from under the covers and his lord waited patiently as the hand groped out, wrapping trembling fingers around smaller ones digging into an equally smaller ulna and radius, leaving bruising marks in the flawless bone. Papyrus pried Sans hand from the painful grip he had on himself and pressed the small hand to his collar’s loop, tipping his head back in the process. He rattled softly, chilled even as the fever continued to rage throughout his bones and smiled weakly.

“Stupid mutt,” Sans muttered fondly.


	12. Coffee Date - Undertale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connected to Take a Whisk, but can stand on its own. I do make references to it, but it’s not needed to read this. No real set timeline on this, but it was originally connected to a larger fic that (once again) was never written but I enjoyed it too much to let it go. Who thought they’d seen the last of Whisk Reader? Certainly me, that’s who! Guess who was wrong?!  
>  **WARNINGS:** Food mention, so many awful, terrible puns, someone should really stop me from writing them.

The slow, hypnotic drumbeat overlaid by a contrasting thrum of a guitar and mournful crone of a saxophone made you pause from your formally furious activities in your kitchen to listen to the radio perched above your sink. The blue, scuffed up trash can find had been an amazing thing to come across and with a little elbow grease and a helping hand, it’d been brought back to its former glory and happily found its new home. It currently shared space with a few dying houseplants and a bamboo shoot you were desperate to keep alive and prove you were a perfectly functioning adult. Half the bamboo plant was already dead. You hummed along with the late Bowie and wiped your hands on the towel you kept tucked in your apron.

Moving at a more subdued pace, you popped the lid off your simmering cooking pot and gave a little wave to dispel the steam and peered inside. The smell of rich, warm spices wafted from the vegetable stew and you sighed. It was coming along nicely. Reaching for a knife, you swiped it across your cutting board and brought it down on the line of mushrooms you were working on. They’d be a fantastic addition, giving your dinner meal an earthy undertone. The radio buzzed along, moving seamlessly into another song, slightly more upbeat and reminded you of old movies with French hit men and little girls.

“-that’s not the shape of my heart,” you mumbled along with the lyrics, horribly off key and beat and glanced at your phone as it gave a buzz and a familiar jingle, lighting up with a name and picture. You felt yourself reflexively smile at the grinning skeleton dressed up as a bottle of ketchup from last Halloween. It was too good to pass up and would forever be immortalized as the call pic. Second only to Papyrus’s graduation picture. Sliding a finger across the screen, you brought it to your ear. 

“Hello!”

“knock, knock.”

“Sans,” you deadpanned. “that doesn’t really work on the phone.”

There was light scuffle of Sans moving and the crinkle of a bag before the sound of a very large chisp being munched on replied back. You could practically hear the grin from the other side of the phone in the continuing silence. Switching it to your other ear, you hitched your shoulder to keep it place while you finished chopping the rest of the mushrooms.

“…Fine. Who’s there?”

“canoe.” 

“Canoe who?”

“ _canoe_ help me out with something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“aww, not even a pity laugh?” 

“Mmmm, don’t think I can dredge up one.” You scooped your knife and hand together carefully, you were a professional after all, and transported the mushrooms to the pot in one go. You poked at a few of them, pushing them to mingle with the rest of the vegetables and rolled your eyes at the skeleton’s chuckle.

“you busy right _meow_?”

Dropping the lid back into place, you adjusted the temperature setting, bringing the flame further down. “Not really, just making something for dinner. But, that should be another hour or so to really infuse everything. What’s up?” 

“mind if i drop by for coffee?”

“Kind of late for coffee,” you eyed the time. “But yeah, sure. You guys can totally stay for dinner too. I got this really simple vegetable stew recipe from Grams and it’s so freakin’ unbelievably delicious.”

“it’s uh…” there was brief pause and more scuffling you recognized as the sound of clothing. “it’s just me tonight. pap’s busy with undyne, doing some sort of morale boosting, team building, whatever with the dog squad. it required a lot of _ruffing_ it and i’m a fragile, lumpy potato, so i opted to keep the couch warm till he got back.” 

“I thought the Guard was disbanded?”

“it still is, they like to hang out from time to time. go all weekend warrior.” 

“Nice.” You set your cutting board into the sink, flicking on your amazing water pressure and watched it come out in a trickle. “So, the couch kicking you out?”

“yeah, heard about my love affair with yours and couldn’t handle the _chaise_.”

“It was going to happen sooner or later.” The phone slipped and you had to fumble with a wet hand to keep it from clattering into the sink and caught the tail end of whatever joke Sans crammed into the conversation.

“- had someone else’s couch fibers stuck to my nonexistent butt.” 

Did skeletons have butts?

“you’re thinking about it, aren’t ya?” Sans smugly queried and now you really could hear his grin.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m hanging up.”

“wait!” You waited. “catch ya _latte_.” You hung up on him laughing with a shake of your head and continued rinsing off your utensils. It wasn’t often it was just you and Sans, the skeleton brothers often coming as a pair. You hardly ever saw one without the other and if a single skeleton visit was in order, it was usually Papyrus. In fact, you were pretty sure Sans had never been in your apartment on his own. Nor had he ever asked to come over. Coffee outings were strictly reserved for the small indie coffee shop down the street, your subtle way of sticking it to the corporate man by indulging in your caffeine addiction via supporting local businesses. Plus, they made a mean caramel macchiato. But, it was Sunday and that meant the coffee shop was closed.

You shuffled around your kitchen, pulling a couple of stained coffee cups down from above the sink and spent several annoying minutes hunting down coffee filters for your maker. You were going to have a conversation with yourself on why they were in the freezer and felt you knew the answer to that. The answer being a short, punny skeleton. You weren’t going to say anything to him about it, let him chomp on the bit while you feigned ignorance. 

While the coffee maker sputtered to life, you finished tidying up, rinsing a can out before tossing it into you pile of recyclables you’d forget about until it was a towering mountain threatening to take over your apartment. You’d eventually throw everything into a bag and lug it downstairs to the main cans. You didn’t look forward to that, not with Creepy Steve lurking around. It was unfortunate nickname for one of your neighbors, coined by a few others and while you never really had a problem with him, it was his constant staring that unnerved you. That and he hung around the trash a lot and never initiated any kind of conversation or small talk even when prompted. Just stared.

A heavy handed knock stirred you from your thoughts and you closed the fridge door behind you with a hipcheck, setting the two containers down on the counter next to the cups and worked on untying the knot of your apron. The island snack counter made a great sitting area for two, your table currently a mess doubling as your desk until you could hunt for a new one. The old one had finally given up the ghost and it was sadly mourned and hauled away to the trash. Struggling with the double knot, you made your way to your door and paused, hand on the doorknob when the knock came a second time. You reflexively smiled and leaned a hand on the door, bringing your mouth closer to it.

“Who is it?”

“theodore.” The familiar voice was slightly muffled.

“Theodore, who?” 

“ _theodore_ wasn’t opened, so i knocked.”

“Two out of five.” You opened the door and paused midstep to let Sans in and squinted at the rumpled grey shirt he wore under an old jean jacket. He oh so casually tugged the jacket aside to let you view the greatest science pun ever to exist. _Never Trust an Atom, They Make Up Everything._ There was even an adorable little blue atom grinning happily back at you. “Maybe a solid three."

“meh, i’ll take it.”

“Wow.” You leaned against the door. “Hope you didn’t dress up just for me.”

He grinned cheekily and held up a white paper bag, jostling the contents inside. “brought some bagels, think they forget the little plastic knives. oh hey, that reminds me.” He said, roping you in. “what kind of bagel can fly?”

“Sans.” 

“a _plane_ bagel.”

“I’m closing the door, now.”

“okay, okay,” he laughed, scooting inside before you really could close the door on him, one hand still working on your apron’s knot. You finally got it and shimmied it off you, tossing it over a peg to join its fellow others as you passed by and riffled around in a drawer for silverware. One of these days you’d buy one of those compartmental organizer things, but not today. Sans dropped the bag on the counter and moved to opposite side of the sink for plates.

You covertly watched him stretch up on tiptoe to reach the second shelf where you stored them. He swiped at them a second time, grazed one and gave a little hop, leaning on the counter to reach further up. With a cheeky grin of your own, you reached over him to grab the plates and passed them along, much to his subtle indignation. A dusting of blue graced his cheeks before he turned away and by the time you grabbed the coffee pot and set the silverware down, the blush was gone.

“That’s disgusting.” Sans sniffed at the ketchup bottle you had setting out beside the creamer and without waiting for you to finish pouring his coffee, upended it to squirt an unhealthy amount in while you tried not to dry heave. If you hadn’t learned of the skeleton’s unhealthy obsession with the condiment, you might have thought he was doing it to just mess with you. You were still pretty sure he did it to mess with you anyway.

“You want to stay for dinner?” You filled your cup, leaving the coffee pot on the counter between you atop of an oven mitt you were using for your stew. “Got plenty of it. You can even take some back for Papyrus whenever he gets his fill of Surviving with Undyne.”

“uh, maybe,” he replied, giving his cup a quick swirl to stir the tomato sludge from the bottom and took a sip. “def for pap though, he’ll appreciate it.” Sans immediately dug into his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. “pap’s been keeping me up to date on his excursion and i think he sent me this by accident, but you gotta see it.” He held up the phone so you could see the screen and realized it was a video and you tapped it, scooting forward in your stool to watch it better.

The video was blurry for half a second before apparently whoever was filming, stopped moving in short bursts to focus on a grove of small sapling trees clustered in the middle of a clearing in what you deemed was the forest surrounding Mount Ebott. Papyrus entered grandly from the left, brandishing a relatively large bone construct, glowing faintly orange around the edges. He held it over one shoulder and faced the camera welder and immediately the screen tipped sideways. 

“DOGGO, YOU’RE HOLDING IT WRONG,” Papyrus stated, shoving the bone into the ground to let it stand on end and marched back to the camera, red gloved hands taking over the screen. There was a shuffling noise and the phone was straightened and blurred before Doggo held still long enough to focus again. By that time Greater Dog drifted in from the right. He barked excitedly, dressed in his usual guard attire. Papyrus jogged back into position and picked up his bone weapon.

“THE DOGI AND UNDYNE HAVE GONE HUNTING FOR FOOD. IN THE MEANTIME, I HAVE TAKEN IT UPON MY SELF TO CONTINUE WHERE WE LEFT OFF ON LAST NIGHT’S SURVIVAL TRAINING. AND I—” Papyrus’s grand lesson was interrupted by a second barking off screen. “WHAT? NO, I’M NOT GOING TO PLAY FETCH RIGHT NOW LG.” Lesser Dog whined. “NO, BEGGING WILL NOT SWAY ME.” A very sad whine. “MAYBE LATER. AHEM. WHERE WAS I?”

There was a sudden rustle of the trees behind the duo and Papyrus turned just as something large leapt out from the underbrush.

“RAWR!”

You jumped back at the sudden snarling face that filled the camera screen, blue skin and shocking red hair immediately giving them away even as the phone tumbled to the dirt ground with a soft splat. You dimly recognized the fading shriek of Papyrus, overlaid by Greater Dog’s soul wrenching howl and Doggo barking manically.

“Fuhuhuhu!!! You guys screamed so loud!” Undyne cackled fiercely and though you couldn’t see it, you were pretty sure she was bent over by the wheeze of her laughter.

“IT WAS A BATTLE SCREECH!”

“Shrillest battle screech I ever heard.”

Quick, short sniffing echoed around the dark screen until the phone was picked up, the camera view tipping the world upside down and you caught sight of a few trees, a crisp blue sky, and Lesser Dog’s head before Undyne came into a tilted lowered view, sagging against Greater Dog, a hand pressed against her side. Papyrus stood in front of her, arms folded and attempting the best glare he could manage and for a smiling skeleton it was a pretty good attempt. Doggo sat hunched a few feet away, facing the opposite direction before he was redirected back to the group by sound.

“Is everything all right? (We heard yelling!)” The camera shifted to a cockeyed angle of the Dogi emerging from a few trees, Dogamy holding a sack over his shoulder while Dogaressa carried both of their axes, balanced carefully in the crooks of her arms. She looked ready to swing both at a given notice but instantly relaxed at the group, her husband resting his free paw on her shoulder helping.

Greater Dog instantly perked up, jostling Undyne from her slouched position and she pulled herself up to stand up to her full height, stretching her arms over her head in a leisurely manner. “It’s cool, just Pap here giving a great lesson to… where’s your phone?”

“UH?” Papyrus dropped his arms and mock act of anger and the camera shrank further into the short grass as if trying to obscure itself. “THAT’S A GOOD QUESTION. IT CERTAINTLY DIDN’T GET UP AND WALK AWAY.” The camera picked it’s way through the grass but the movement was caught by the others. “WAIT! PHONE! DON’T ACTUALLY WALK AWAY!” Papyrus made his way toward it before immediately halting. “WHAT?! IT’S…” His voice rose a few octaves to an indignant level. “THE ANNOYING DOG? HOW DID YOU EVEN GET OUT HERE?! GIVE ME BACK MY-” The phone took off in a run, heading straight for Lesser Dog before ducking between his legs and making a beeline for freedom. A harsh pant and scrape of teeth was last thing you saw and heard before the video ended.

For several long seconds you stared at yourself in the blank reflection of the phone before sitting back with a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god,” you whispered. “This is the greatest thing you have ever shown me.”

“i know.” Sans slipped the phone back into his pocket and picked up his coffee with a little smile. 

“I was a little worried because, you know, Undyne, and I know Pap is tough as nails but… Undyne.” You had never really interacted with the aquatic monster, former Royal Guard turned private Security, but you had heard plenty of stories from the brothers. Enough to make you worry about your own fragile, squishy human safety.

“How long are they going to be out there?”

“just for the weekend, they’re coming back early _tomarrow_ morning.”

“I have to invite Papyrus over. I bet he’s got a hundred stories to tell.” You laughed quietly before picking at the bagel bag, leaning forward again to open it up and dump out the little containers of cream cheese.

“yeah,” Sans replied distractedly, “paps the best. means the world to me.”

You looked up from scraping the meager serving of cream cheese out its little round container at the skeleton’s wistful tone and he fidgeted under your gaze, staring into the murky reflection of his coffee. “Uh, hey, don’t worry about Papyrus, he’ll be back real soon and griping about your exotic sock collection in no time.”

“yeah, i know. i can feel it in my _sole_.”

Your scoff had him grinning again and conversations turned toward idle chitchat as you munched on everything bagels, steering clear of the ‘why is it called everything when there’s like three things on it’ debate, knowing the monster would only drag you further into the nightmare realm of puns where he ruled supreme. You were pretty sure there were only a handful of bagel puns in existence, and Sans would be the one to know every single one.

“And work?” You prompted, shoving the last bite of your bagel into your mouth and brushed your hands off over the empty plate.

“which one?” Sans picked a black sesame seed off the top of his partially eaten bagel and set it atop the small growing pile of other seeds.

“Your concession stand one. Papyrus told me you’re thinking of expanding it?” You poured self another cup of coffee and offered some to Sans who pushed his cup toward you. “Like going full apostrophe dog chain stand?”

“nah, too much work and i’m…” he yawned. “too much of a lazybones.”

“Sans, you’re a dirty liar.” The subtle wince went unnoticed while you poured creamer into your coffee, watching it bloom a pale beige. “You’re one of the hardest working people I’ve ever met.”

“says chef i-don’t-know-what-a-break-is.”

“That’s line cook to you, bud. And, you know,” your voice softened considerably, enough for Sans to look up from his seed picking. “Thanks for helping me out. I really like Valentino’s, you got a good crew there.”

“you’re part of that crew, too.”

“Yeah,” you returned bashfully, “I just, never properly thanked you for the good word you put in. To be honest, I don’t know where I’d be now.” You couldn’t fault your old place, you were a trial run to hire outside the family and when it came down to it, family came first for the mom and pop diner. You didn’t harbor any bad feelings and even stopped in every now and then for lunch.

Sans trailed the edge of his cup with his thumb, catching a chip and picked at it. “you’re a great cook and pap digs ya. what else is there?”

“Financial stability?”

“too overrated.”

You snorted. “All right, how ‘bout a decent wardrobe?”

“ah, a snazzy dresser.”

“The snazziest.”

He gave a fidgety chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck just above the collar of his jacket. “no big deal.” His eye lights sparkled mischievously. “no skin off my nose.”

“Booo.”

“tough crowd. i’ll win you over to the pun side one of these days.”

“Doubt it, you’d have a better chance with Papyrus than me.” You finished off the rest of your coffee, debating if you wanted a little more before pouring yourself half a cup.

“hey, i distinctly remember you laughing at his jokes last week.” Sans shook his head at your offer to pour him some more, having barely touched his second.

“Because his are clever and witty, yours are awful.”

“wow, tell me how you really think.” A light sheen dotted his brow as the monster turned his cup, having already shredded his napkin into pieces when you weren’t paying attention. You frowned lightly as Sans avoided looking at you, focusing on how slowly he turned the cup without disturbing the surface of his cooling coffee.

“Sans,” you turned in your chair to face him better and he used his jacket as a buffer, sinking into the collar slightly, “you know I’m just messing with you. I mean, sure, most of your puns are terrible, but it’s like the volume of them rather than the quality. A little less makes them a little more special?”

Sans only seemed to wilt a little more, increasing his coffee focus with an intensity he only reserved for Papyrus. “so,” his voice was so quiet, you nearly missed it. “you like pap’s jokes better than mine?”

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. “I, uh, like… both of yours, equally?” That didn’t seem to placate the skeleton who’d finally broken out in a light sweat. “Are… are you okay?” Now you were starting to get concerned. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him this worked up over something, especially over some light ribbing about puns. It seemed like the less you liked them, the more it made him happier. You raised a hand, letting it hover between the two of you, unsure of setting it on the monster’s shoulder. 

“i guess.” He replied with a shrug and sighed. “i… want to ask you something, but i’m just a little unsure how to. so, i’m just gunna blurt it out. okay?”

Now you really didn’t know how to reply to that, but the graveness behind it felt like he was going to ask you something dire. “Um, okay?” You shifted to set your hands on your lap, giving him your undivided attention. “I’m listening.”

He drank the last of his coffee, nearly chugging it to give him either the time or courage to say whatever was on his mind. “Sans, if it’s something important, just say it.” You decided to tease him, hoping the break the seriousness. “You’re not going to ask me out, are you?” You only got silence back.

Oh. Well… damn. You took a long sip of your coffee to fill the awkward silence, unsure of how to continue just as Sans set his own down and spun to face you, determination settling across his frame.

“are you sleeping with my brother?”

There was a plethora of replies he expected, denials mainly, stumbling words of apologies, maybe even a yes in there somewhere. What he didn’t expect was a mouthful of lukewarm coffee in his face.

“you know in hindsight,” he drew out later, watching as you furiously scrubbed at his jacket at the sink, cheeks tinted pink as you stuttered out apologizes he’s still not exactly sure for what. “i probably should have waited.”


	13. Only Human - Underswap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you thought I had a weakness for Swapfell, boi, don’t even get me started on Underswap. Wrote this listening to Human by Rag’n’Bone Man, hence the title. I’m not very creative with titles.
> 
> A little bit of a short notice, but I’ll be taking a break from one shots in a couple of weeks to work on other Undertale stuff. I’m also going on vacation in August and wont be doing any writing or posting during that time. I hope to pick back up in the middle of August. I’ll be working on a Bitty Bones fic and a hopeful series for my version of the Mafiatale AU. I also plan to do a mini fontcest smut series but I’ve decided to post that separately from Blue’s Writing Corner. This doesn’t mean I’ll be stopping my one shots here permanently, I still have several ideas in the works, there just won’t be a set schedule for them.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Death, grievous injuries, body horror, blood, language, food mention.

Making a pot of coffee is like second nature to you, you can just about do it in your sleep. You’re fairly certain you’ve done so under Sans’ rigorous schedule. The monster was an early riser and impossible night owl, filling the day with as much work and activity as monsterly possible. You try to suppress a yawn with little success as you scoop out the recommended amount of grounds into the paper filter, adding a sneaky extra. The quiet muffled sounds of the television float in the quiet of the house, intermitted with the hiss of static every now and then. The snowstorm was really raging outside and the house shifts and pops in return and you feel cold air slip through the cracks. Where there was a will, there was a way.

Pressing the on button on the old, battered machine, it gurgles to life and you tiredly smile at the first patter of dark liquid dropping into the basin. You take a few minutes to watch it, rolling your shoulders slowly to ease out the deep ache of them before grabbing a couple of chipped mugs, fumbling them with one hand and set them on the kitchen table. “Do you think I should ask Sans if he wants any?”

The orange hoodie wearing skeleton slumps a little more than usual in his seat, his spine curves in what you can only deem as uncomfortable to tuck long, lanky legs under the table. He sits sprawled, uncaring about reasonable space and rolls his head slightly in your direction. “nah,” he returns slowly and you half expect him to leave it at that. “you should leave him. he’s had a rough morning, best let him rest.”

You snort, “That’d be a first.” and hover over the coffee maker, impatiently waiting for it to finish. You already regret making a full pot. Between you and Papyrus, you never could finish it by the end of the day. Your haste shows in the quick, rhythmic drum of fingers on the countertop and tap your other clenched fingers against your thigh until the coffee maker gives one last sputter, signifying it was done. Finally. You bring the pot over and pour it into the two awaiting mugs before returning it to its cradle to keep warm. You don’t think you’ll want another cup, but just in case.

You thoughtfully push Papyrus’ cup toward him before taking your own to ease into the opposite chair, mindful of his legs. He stubbornly doesn’t move them out of your way and you reflexively smile before taking a tentative sip of coffee. Just the way you liked it, black like your soul, you think with an inner laugh. Bleh, maybe you did make it too strong this time. You took another careful sip. “So, what’s the plan of action today?”

Papyrus is quiet for a while, mulling over his thoughts. “had the good fortune of actually having a day off. i kinda forgot about it. guess that’s why i surprised you.”

You both eye the broken plate on the floor and you have the pretense to look guilty, but not enough to actually pick it up. It’s the thought that counts, you suppose. 

“figured i’d become one with the couch, catch up on a little napsta and then head to muffet’s tonight.”

“Sounds fun.”

Papyrus’ chuckle is breathy. “i was thinking of inviting you.”

“Yeah?”

“but i changed my mind.” Was that a note of guilt in his voice? “i did bring some spider donuts home.”

“I saw.”

“sorry, i dropped them.”

“It’s all right. I can get some more later.”

“sure.”

You take another sip of coffee, ignoring the slight burn. “Oh, duh. You want sugar, milk or honey in your coffee?”

“like you gotta ask.”

You throw the skeleton a quick finger gun and skirt around the mess on the floor, careful to not disturb it and grab the plastic honey bear container next to the breadbox. Out of everything Papyrus put honey on, or rather in, coffee was pretty tame and you plop the lightly sticky honey bear in front of him. He glances at it before rolling his eyes to give you a look.

Oh, right. “Sorry, been a bit of a scatterbrain today.” You reach across the table to uncap the container and gave a healthy squeeze over Papyrus’ coffee.

“guess i caught you in the middle of something.”

The honey was just starting to crystalize and you had to give the bottle a few good shakes and a couple of hilarious gaseous sounds later, a dollop splashed into the mug. “Nothing too important,” you assure him and contemplate adding some to your own but decide quickly that just wasn’t the combo you wanted that morning. Instead you sit it back down within reach and took another mindful sip of your mug.

Papyrus stares at his quietly, watching the odd swirl of sugared fats create a faint wisp of color to the otherwise dark reflection. “how many?”

You shrug and feel the throb of another sore muscle. You must have laid on it wrong for too long. It was going to bother you all day. “I don’t know, a few?,” you replied distantly, still working on the muscle. “I wasn’t really keeping track.”

“that doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Like I said, total scatterbrain today.” You can feel the pun on the tip of your tongue but you do the proper thing and hold it in. It would have been in poor taste, even with the pun master sitting across from you. Instead you offer, “Do you want me to clean up the living room before I head out?”

His shrug matches your nonchalance and ends in more as a casual one shouldered roll. “why bother? it’s just going to get messy again.” Still, he eyes what he can see from his seat at the table, noting the spider donuts strewn about when he dropped them and gives the single donut that had been carelessly stepped on and ground into the carpet, a withered glare. Sans would have a fit if he saw. The pet rock’s sprinkles are nearly indistinguishable from the scattered donut ones and why wouldn’t they be? He’d bought them from Muffet at Sans’ request. No doubt said pet was enjoying its newly found freedom after its great escape.

“It’s the least I can do.”

It’s his turn to snort and give a listless shake of his skull. You watch the pinprick lights of his eyes waver before focusing on the far wall where the calendar resides just above the table. He takes a deep sudden interest in the tiny block writing that has everyone’s work schedules lined up. He never checks it, despite Sans’ huffed annoyance and reminders and notes the absence of his name on today’s date.

“I’ll even lock up,” you add, as if trying to sweeten the deal but you can tell it’s not taking. Your shoulders slump and you push aside your coffee, uninterested in finishing it. “How… how are you doing?”

“i’ve been better.”

“Sorry.”

“no, you’re not.” His attention drifts from the calendar dates, seemingly distracted and you have to reign in the instinct to touch his outstretched arm resting on the table.

“You’re right.” You concede. No beating around the bush. “I’m not. Does it hurt?”

“no.”

“Liar.”

Papyrus finally meets your gaze, cutting to you sharply at the stony proclamation and he can’t help the incredulous inquiry. “why are you-”

“Sans said it hurt.” The sharp inhale is the nudge you need and you stand slowly, nearly catching your foot on the broken, crooked leg of the table. You clutch your hand tighter, leaving your coffee behind. “Isn’t that right, Sans?”

“don’t touch him!” The snarling demand is punctuated by the scrape of Papyrus’s chair as he shoves back to glare at you over his shoulder. Eye lights flicker and regard you with something dark and smoldering as you hover over a neat little dust pile, shy of disturbing it as you shuffle back a step. Papyrus jerks again unconsciously, tethered to the table by the kitchen knife that runs through his hand and into the wood deep enough to come through the other side. His other hand sits awkwardly in his lap, shoulder sagging from the concealed break. Dust itches, agitating it further but the skeleton gives no inclination it bothers him.

You stare back and raise the dusty knife in your hand in silent opposition, the pristine tip pointed at him in an eerily steady grip. In contrast, you press against the counter behind you to maintain a safe distance. Neither of you move as the kitchen clock ticks away filling the heavy silence, pushing time forward in stolen fragments and it’s Papyrus who moves first, slumping in his chair again. The fight gone out of him before it started. He was tired. You were tired.

“he loved you, you know?” You don’t miss his skepticism and Papyrus shakes his head, unable to believe the sweet little confession his brother had so timidly divulged. He had chuckled goodheartedly at the elder, giving his scarf a ruffle and teased him all week. “really loved you. more than the kid.”

Your knife doesn’t waver as a frown finds its way to the surface, breaking through your otherwise schooled face. “Sans was a naïve fool and you know it.” It was easier to shift the blame. “You made him that way.” And you take pleasure in the flutter of emotions like butterflies in your stomach. “In a way, this is all your fault.”

Papyrus grinds his teeth hard enough for them to creak against each other before he looks away, letting his posture go lax again. He doesn’t hear you move until you’re resting a hand on his good shoulder and even then he doesn’t tense. Doesn’t have the energy to.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper behind him, “I’m sorry,” you plead. “I don’t want to fight with you.” Your hand moves to his face cupping his cheek, drifting fingertips over the maxilla where the awful crack stretches across it. Your elbow throbs in sympathy. You keep moving, fluttering your touch over each little cut and break, marveling over how he was still talking and your hand comes away dusty before settling back on his shoulder, caressing the edges of the exposed bones of his neck.

His huff of a laugh is hollow. “poor choice of words, kiddo.”

“Joker to the end, huh?”

“that’s me. papyrus… the great big joke.” Your hand stills at his sudden laughter before it chokes off into a sob you pretend not to hear and give him a moment to collect himself.

“If it makes you feel better, it’ll be quick.”

“not really.” You can feel the slight hitch of his shoulder in another shrug.

“Worth a shot. You can’t really blame me.”

“what?” Bitterness laces his tone, “you got a secret dead ghost child controlling your every move, too?”

“Wow, that kids got problems.”

“you’re telling me.”

It’s almost like old times, if you close your eyes. Papyrus sitting blearily at the table, slumped over a cup of coffee while Sans hums a ditty from some stupid television show on repeat. “He didn’t cry.” You feel him tense now underneath you and out of reflex, you tighten your grip to steady him. “I know you think he can be a bit of a crybaby. He told me that, you know? But he said—”

“stop.” It’s a whispered plea.

“—that he wasn’t going to cry, because you wouldn’t want him to. And what—”

“i said stop.” Even quieter now, cracking.

“—kind of cool big bro would he be, if he cried?”

Papyrus’ head drops forward in defeat and you wait him out. “you gunna dust me or what?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe I might reload.”

“if you could have reloaded, you would have done so already.” His phalanges twitch, a spasm really and jostles the carpal bones against the lodged knife.

Your aim had to be precise, catching him in the thickest of compacted bones and magic making up his hand. Any other place and he’d have ripped himself free with little injury. You tap the flat side of your blade against his neck, making dull little tinks as a reminder. “What makes you think I haven’t done it already?” You can’t help yourself. “Doesn’t this conversation feel familiar to you?”

“stop fucking around and dust me.” He sounds so done with you.

“Why are you so eager to die?” The blade trails along his neck, catching the edge of the axis vertebra and leaves the faintest scratch. You do it a second time and a shudder runs through him, bones rattling softly unable to stop the reaction. You need it one more time and press hard enough to pull a hiss between teeth and a drop of marrow pearls atop the silver blade. From your angle you can’t make out his face and move to sit down in your chair again, resting the knife in your lap.

Papyrus’ eye lights have gone hazy, on the edge of guttering out and his chest moves, rising slowly before collapsing, stilling long enough for you to wonder before it laboriously rises again. “Giving up already?” You taunt. “Come on _Papy_ , where’s the sportsmanship in that?” The cutesy shortened version of his name doesn’t elicit a reaction, even with the softened tone you add. The vacant stare isn’t directed at you anymore and it takes a lengthy moment for him to reply.

“guess, I don’t have it in me, today.”

The ever-present lethargy is apathetic, even in a moment like this. It worms its way under your skin in needling annoyance and you can’t scrounge up the heart to pity the skeleton anymore. You didn’t really have a reason to be mad at him, he did give you quite the fight, putting more energy into it than you’d ever seen him before. You didn’t need to turn around to see the overturned couch in the living room, the shattered television still clinging to life, the pet rock sized hole through the front window. Somewhere the carpet was still burning from scorch marks and a failing wall groaned again, battered inside and out.

“Yeah?” You can’t hide the sudden excitement in your voice, not with the prospect of something new. “Let’s fix that, shall we?” You tapped the knife on the edge of the table, catching the old wood and nicking it with each tap. “How far back do you want to go?” You drag the knife across the tilted surface, marring a line in it. “The beginning?” The tip of knife gouged out a small chunk near the start of your line. “Or maybe right before I run this knife through Sans’ neck? How fast can you run, Papy? I could give you a five-minute head start. I’ll wait just as you enter the front door, you can watch it this tim—”

You hear it before you feel it, the audible ting of your Soul being seized with blue magic and before you can raise your arm, you’re snatched back out of your chair and slam mercilessly into the wall behind you by an invisible force. Pain explodes in your skull and back, knocking the air from your lungs and you wheeze out a breath, crushed by the force. Drywall and plaster cave in around you, threatening to swallow you whole, edges gouging into your sides as you were pushed back further. The kitchen spasms in your vision, tilting sideways before darkness threatens to overtake it.

Papyrus surges to his feet, ripping his hand free of the knife and you miss the crack of bone over the dull ringing in your head. Straight up and out, it leaves a jagged hole in his palm and fingers useless. His staggered gait sends his chair backward with a resounding bang, a call to arms but just as quickly as it starts, Papyrus topples backwards. His right kneecap twists the wrong way, left ankle still weak and he collides hard with the wall behind him.

“why did i think… you’d be any different.” He spits through straining teeth, threatening to crack under the grimace. He struggles to push himself off the wall, relying on it to keep from tipping over only to collapse against it with a grunt of surprise when his hand gives, crumbling to dust. He slides down and the sharp impact against his tailbone is dulled by the fact his forearm goes next, leaving behind a wilted orange sleeve still twitching with an intact shoulder. The skeleton sits awkwardly, one leg sprawled out in front of him in too many angles, the other twisted underneath him in one last effort to stand.

There is a struggle of power in the air, heady, hot, devouring. It’s clawing its way to existence, stuttering to a broken life. It forms in the middle of the air, a wisp of greyed white before it collapses into itself and blinks away in a shower of dying magic. There is an odd combating scent of cloves, sweet and warm and in the wake of it, the blue magic fades around you. You drop to the ground, the wall clutching at pieces of your clothing and flesh, tugging at your arms as you lean forward, unsteady and hunched. It’s too much and without the aid of the combating magic to keep you up, you stumble hard into the table, the edge catching you in the gut. The clatter of the knife still in your hand brings you around and with a determined grunt, you stand. Too tall, too straight, overcompensating for the weaving world around you.

Papyrus pants, heaving dusty air into imaginary lungs to help the circulation of the magic keeping his alive. You can hear it the shaky wheeze of his breath, an awful eye rolling pun and his rebellious grin grows larger and grimmer, cleaving a line straight through his skull and the amusement of it doesn’t quite reach his eye sockets.

You lurch like a drunken beast, wild and scattered in movements, narrowing in on your prey as your heart shudders in your ears. It’s a war cry that leaves you primitive, feral and full of rage and you can feel the heaviness of the knife in your white knuckled grip. The unassuming arm awkwardly pooling in his lap, the one you broke with your own two hands like dry kindling, lashes up and out. The violent wrench snaps him forward, tearing through bone and splintering the magical joint that just barely holds it together. With little fanfare, it vanishes into nothing, leaving the sleeve to dump out dust from the pitiful, flaccid end.

The magical construct, a fragment of bone in a familiar blue catches you in the throat, tearing and ripping and gnashing like the hound’s skull that never forms. You cannot stop in enough time, your ankle catching when you slid forward in the attempt and the fragment passes through you as if you were standing still. There is a faint plink as it careens into the opposite wall and shatters into nothing as if it never existed. The tiny smear of red left behind says otherwise.

There’s a tightness in your neck, as if your shirt collar is too snug and you try to swallow to alleviate it and you’re drowning, seizing in the red that spills from the minuscule tear, coating the front of your shirt before you can even gurgle a surprised sound. Your inherent gasp of air is wet and silky and fingertips catch on ragged flesh, spilling more of your life to splatter in thick globes at your feet. Terrifying dark and heavy, it’s a stark contrast to the pristine dust that floats in the stale kitchen air like twisted motes caught in the fragments of light.

There’s the barest caress of magic curling around your soul but it’s so weak, it’s nothing but a timid kiss to hold you back but it’s enough to stall and your strength leaves you to buckle to the ground in a heap. Nothing but gravity holds you down and it’s as strong as any magic, leeching the life from you in shallow spurts. The kitchen is fading, numbing your body and mind in an infuriating static.

You can’t. You wont.

Bloodied hands claw at the ground, scratching like nails on a chalkboard as you shove yourself forward, movement made easier by the swath of blood you leave behind. Knees slid in the fading trails of life and you rake a handful of gaudy orange material toward you, dragging your dying body up to meet the grinning reaper in the eye. You want so badly to spit into the gaping eye socket, void of light and color but when you work your mouth, it’s crimson that splatters his face in weeping teardrops. He doesn’t need to see to know the blade that raises in one final shaking blow.

“you’re only human, after all.”


	14. Quickstep Query - Mafiatale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connected to Foxtrot Folly but not that particular storyline though I do make a vague reference to it. Same Reader character and established history, though. Again, mashing together a lot of the gangster based AUs to make my own jumbled mess. I wanted to do something cute but then this happened and it’s sorta cute? *Shrugs* This’ll be the last Mafiatale one shot I’ll do as I’ll be working on Mafiatale stuff separately from here. Kitty-Cat © [NyuBlackNeko](http://nyublackneko.tumblr.com).  
>  **WARNINGS:** Injuries, language, allude to abuse and experimentation, Reader is not a doctor, food mention.

What was with Friday’s and not expecting to be where you were? Case in point, you didn’t think you’d be on babysitting duty watching over G’s squirt in a safe house down on Broadway and Meadows at ten o’clock at night. But, here you were, doing exactly that. The child scrambled back and forth across the large bed in a vain attempt to evade the eventual bedtime routine and you caught the small wriggling body, enveloping them in a tight but careful hold and plunked them down on the closest pillow. You were in no mood to deal with their usual tactics to delay the inevitable. The billow of soft, chocolate brown hair swiveled in your direction and tiny hands dwarfed in much too large sleeves gestured toward the half empty glass of water on the nightstand.

“No more water, Kitty,” you argued the stretching fingers. “You’re going to be up half the night.” You could almost sense the calculating look hidden by the mop of hair before the child shifted focus, tugging one of the many, worn books from beside them onto the bed and held it up. “Nope, I already read you three.” Who the hell read Sinclair Lewis to a kid, anyways? That had to have been Papyrus’ doing, bless his soul.

“G?” The softest voice imaginable wavered from the child as they struggled with the ends of their appropriated bedclothes, one of said monster’s shirts. Even with the sleeves rolled up and the hem gathered and tied in a knot, the kid practically swam in the silk shirt. At least it was soft. The warbled inquiry with just enough saddened inflection in the quivering tone made you frown. The kid was good, you had to give them that.

“He’ll drop by later, but you.” You gently poked the child in the middle of their stomach, instigating a faint squeal of ticklishness as they scooted back. “Need to sleep. No. More.” You were putting your proverbial parental foot down and tossed the covers over Kitty-Cat’s head playfully, just to ensure you weren’t being too strict. God, how did your ma even do this? The Kitty shaped lump shifted back and forth under the cover like a bed shark and you went to turn off the light just as they resurfaced for air.

“Ah!” The frightened exclamation made you pause as the child shook their head fiercely, tangling the curls even more and you did not envy whoever had to brush that mess out in the morning. Knowing your luck it was going to be you. Their mouth curled down into a puckered frown of their own and they hugged themselves in a soothing gesture that felt too weary for their age.

“All right, all right,” you conceded, making a show of taking your hand away from the light switch. Compromises could be made. It wasn’t that odd of a request. What kid wasn’t afraid of the dark? “I’ll leave the light on and the door open. Okay?”

Kitty pondered it with a decisive hum before nodding their acceptance and snuggled back down under the blankets, giving a terrific yawn. Compromise met.

“Night, Kitty.” You ruffled their hair and pressed a kiss to their forehead, making sure to tuck them in properly before slipping out the door and leaving it open a crack. You made a beeline straight for the living room and flopped into the uncomfortable couch, rolling a hip to alleviate being jabbed by a broken spring. A neglected warm beer sat beside you on an old shipping crate that doubled as a side table and you contemplated drinking it. With an annoyed groan, you scrubbed hands across your face, tangling fingers in your hair to tug at the roots. It’d been a long couple of weeks, working over and above your duties with little time for life’s simple pleasures. Like sleep.

You’d been assigned under G and your sparkling excitement about working along side the son of a Don had long since burnt out. It snuffed and gutted itself out with little care when you realized everything your job entitled. Apparently, you were a babysitter for two because trying to corral G into doing anything was like pulling teeth. And you wanted to pull every single one out of that smiling cracked skull of his. The rare time you could track him down, he shucked responsibility and care into the wind before vanishing with a snarky quip. You still weren’t sure how anything ever got done. Someone was taking out low rung members of the Gaster Family and you were stuck here, watching a kid you didn’t even know existed until a couple of days ago.

G had called you to one of the safe houses, one in a fairly low populated area and when you entered the safe house, you were immediately shot in the chest. The toy gun’s fake pellets stung a little and you narrowed your gaze on the small toddler standing in the middle of the entryway, then at the asshole who actually shot you point blank. G tipped his hat back with the plastic muzzle of his bean shooter, leaned over the back of the couch and grinned.

 _Kitty Cat? Doll face. Doll face? Kitty Cat._ Acquaintances made, G was halfway out the door before you yanked him backwards by his tie to growl threateningly at him. “What the hell am I suppose to do?”

“Watch them?” he answered as if it was the most obvious thing. “Feed them, walk them, they’re like a pet that talks back. But if you give them candy, that usually quiets them down.”

You stared incredulously at the monster. “How do you even function?”

G’s laugh was warm against your face as he leaned forward, tethered by the death grip on his tie. “Quite well, actually.” The single yellow eye light bore down on you, sizing you up and you glared back, unperturbed by the flickering magic. “Look.” He tried to ease your hand off his tie with a brush of boney fingers with little success. “I’m going to be gone for a couple of days and I need you to watch Kitty till Pap can take them Saturday.”

“I ain’t no dang babysitter,” you hissed back, mindful of the language when little ears were nearby. You were certain if you broke your glaring match with the skeleton, you’d find the kid hovering nearby.

G leveled a look at you, fingers idly against yours and pressed curiously along your bruised knuckles. “I wouldn’t trust just anyone with this.”

You sighed, letting him know how annoyed you were by the theatrically slow exhale. “You owe me.”

His grin was nothing but smug and you thought about decking him, you still had a good grip on his thoroughly rumpled tie. “How about Sunday brunch, my treat?”

You narrowed your gaze and gave the length of material a sharp tug to back up your words. “I’m _not_ going out with you.” 

“Who said anything about that?”

“I…”

His grin deepened at your fumble and you felt the heat in your cheeks, contemplating how much trouble you’d be in with the Family if you justifiably strangled your Don’s son with his awful tie. You let go with a disgruntled hum and focused on cuffing the long sleeve of your button down shirt up to their usual placement at your elbow, your tell that you were going to be settling down to work.

“Somewhere expensive,” you eventually said in the ensuing silence. “Expensive enough where they don’t care what I wear. I’m not dressin’ up to eat.”

“Done.”

Why did it still feel like you got the short end of the stick. With G gone doing whatever the hell he did, you came face to face with an openly curious look and the tiniest little thing you’d ever laid eyes. You were fairly certain you were never this small. What was the son of Gaster even doing with a human child? You felt it was better to simply not ask questions and frowned at the light sniff and puckered brow aimed at you before you eased the tension from your body and brought your face into a more neutral scowl. You weren’t that big of a jerk to take it out on a kid. At least they looked cleanly clothed and well fed and not at all traumatized by being in the lingering presence of the asshole skeleton.

“Uh, hey kid.”

You quickly learned why the kid had G wrapped around their little finger. They were far too adorable for their own good and it was all too easy to fall to their whims. They seemed content enough with staying in the safe house, absorbed in drawing and playing on their own with what little G had actually provided for them. They didn’t talk much, which suited you for just fine. You weren’t for idle chatter either and what did one talk about to a kid? Not like you could exactly talk about your daily life and though the last couple of days had passed relatively easily, you still felt wholly inadequate. Nothing like being humbled by a toddler.

One more night and then you could pass the kid on to Papyrus and get back to your actual job. You eyed the folder next to your beer, a scant few pages of information you’d been able to accumulate. Tomorrow, you’d head down to the 47th precient and hit up one of your old friends turned informant. He may have been on Gaster’s payroll, but he was your friend first, especially after a few beers. You slouched further into the couch, crossing an ankle over a knee and propped your head on your hand. It was a dangerously comfortable position and wouldn’t take much to nod off but you were above that and your slow even breath and closed eyes meant nothing. Absolutely… nothing…

The good thing about being a kid was how easily it was to fall asleep and with you leaving the light on and door open, it didn’t take long before Kitty was out like a light. They hugged the small stuffed yellow bunny you had given them, old and threadbare and missing one of its button eyes. They had looked up at you questioningly and you awkwardly shuffled about, rubbing the back of your neck and gave a quick excuse of everyone needing something to sleep with. They loved it. A deep seated frown flickered around their brow, face scrunching up as they burrowed deeper underneath the blankets.

The bad thing about being a kid was how easily it was for dreams to turn into nightmares. The world was a big, scary place for one so little and it didn’t take long for it to become overwhelming. It was never anything solid, flickering memories of broken images, scattered and out of order. Too many hands out of the darkness, descending to hold them down. One grabbed at their arm, yanking it painfully out to the side to plunge a needle into their inner elbow and they whimper, helpless to watch the spurt of red mix in the syringe before it’s pushed back into their veins. It burns and makes their head pound viciously. Another hand tugged their head back to shove a light in their face, blinding them. One pushed them down on the cold steel table and pin them there, the hand pressing too hard against their chest, fingers curling and they don’t like how it lingered. Something is fitted over their face and they can’t breath, smothering them and there’s a sticky sweetness they associate with the burning pain.

Kitty awoke with a gasp, hair plastered to their brow as they stared up at the harsh lighting overhead before curling into themselves, pulling the bunny close as the first tear squeezed from their eye. They buried their face against the stuffed toy, willing it to hold back the fading nightmare. Their chest felt tight, a building pressure and a hiccup of a sob escaped them in the silence.

You jolted awake with a snort, sitting up quickly when you realized you’d fallen asleep. You had the awful fading taste of bitterness in your mouth and used the back of your hand to scrub at your face in disorientation. A familiar sniff drew your attention to the bedroom and for a moment all you could see was the silhouette of a figure looming in the doorway, filling the open space with their massive build. You blinked, heart in your throat and Kitty stood in place of the ghostly dream, clutching your bunny tightly to them. “Mngh hey Kitty-Cat.” Your voice was raspy from sleep and cleared it roughly. “What’s up? Did I wake you?” 

Another sniff answered you before the kid shuffled over to the couch, climbing atop it to sit next to you, leaning as close as they could without actually touching you. Head bowed, you couldn’t see the shimmer of tears in their eyes as they hunched forward, plucking at one of the stuffed rabbit’s patchwork ears and stared mutely at the thread bare carpet in front of them. They had pointed out at the odd reddish brown stain the other day and you had racked your brain for an excuse and said G spilled soda there. They wrinkled their nose amusedly at that.

You stared, hesitant to move until a quiet sob slipped out and you gathered the kid into your arms. Kitty immediately curled into you, fisting a hand into the front of your shirt and buried their head in your chest. “Hey, hey,” you said gently, making a soft soothing sound and tried not to grimace as they snuffled wetly and used your shirt to wipe snot and tears away.

“It’s okay kiddo. You’re okay.” You rubbed their back in small circles as they silently shook, the other hand resting softly on the crown of their head in a protective gesture. Kitty wasn’t generally that affectionate toward you, as sweet as they were, they still regarded you with the wariness of a stranger. Kids liked to feel safe, you reasoned their clinginess when you leaned back and they went with you, nearly crawling into you lap. “Bad dreams?”

Kitty nodded against you.

“Yeah, me too. Want to talk about it?”

They shook their head.

“Me neither.” You absently patted their head, smoothing the faint tangles with clumsy tugs and shifted the toy squished between your bodies. Nothing was said when the kid clung tighter and you wrapped an arm around them completely as reassurance you weren’t going anywhere. “You know what my ma used to do when I had nightmares? She’d bundle me up.” You tugged the old, moth bitten quilt off the back of the couch and wrapped it around the both of you. “Hold me close.” You snuggled Kitty tightly and peppered their forehead and temples with a shower of loud, dramatic kisses making them squirm and giggle. “And tell the nightmares they were no longer welcome and had to leave.” You added with a hint of whimsy remorse, “Ma was pretty fierce, so they listened.”

Kitty wiggled back enough to point up at you. Or that’s what you gathered from the lengthy sleeve that covered their hand comically.

“I suppose I’m pretty tough too. How about we both tell the nightmares to go away.”

They shook their head again and pointed up at you again.

You couldn’t help but smile fondly. “All right, I can be tough for the both of us.” You cleared your throat importantly, adopting an terrible accent faintly reminiscent of G and tipped your head up to avoid shouting in the kid’s ear. “Hey, ya mook, what are do you think you’re doing here? Getcha ugly mug outta here before I punch you right on the nose! Don’t you sass me. If you know what’s best for ya, you’ll hightail it outta here with your tail tucked between your legs. You ain’t welcome.” You humphed and nodded your head. “There. All gone.” 

Kitty clung tighter to you.

“Hey now, no more of that. I chased those nightmares right-”

The front door banged open and slammed against its doorjamb startling you both. Instantly you twisted Kitty in your arms, using your body as cover from the straight line from couch to front door. It’d been a good placement, you could keep an eye on everything from the couch but it also put you directly in the line of fire. A tall figure loomed in the doorway and the streetlight behind them gave them an eerie haze of a glow against bone.

G sagged against the doorframe, gripping it tightly enough for the ends of his phalanges to leaves gouges in the wood to keep from spilling through in a heap. His shirt once pristine was torn and dirty, his pants was splattered in dust and blood, the material too dark for one to show up properly, but allowed the other to practically glimmer against the black pinstripes. He looked like death warmed over, a faint dull yellow undertone to his former pearlescent tones and the single yellow eye light was nearly none existent with magic, leaving nearly empty eye sockets to stare unseeingly. For a moment, he swayed and his head lolled back to find you staring back wide eyed. Subtle movement at your side had him smiling tiredly for Kitty’s sake and straightened awkwardly with a faint grimace. A hand came to cover the splatter of red blood across his face, the perfectly circular hole cowling the attempt before he tugged the black fedora further down his brow and a low, mirthless chuckle fell from the side of his mouth. 

“Jesus,” you whispered, setting Kitty down and moved to stand. G staggered forward before you could reach him and bared teeth in a grimace, unable to keep walking evident by the awful limp. His hand came down heavily on your shoulder for balance as you scooted to his side, supporting him with an arm around his waist. Your fingers caught empty space and you shifted further down to his hips for a better grip, throwing his arm over your shoulder to bare most of his weight.

“Were you followed?” You got a vague shake of a head as a reply and had to accept it as you hoisted him up after kicking the door closed. He grunted and you returned it with the effort to drag the heavy monster across the living space to deposit him on the couch, the broken spring catching him along the hip.

Kitty scooted over, the blanket curled around them like a heavy cape. “G,” they whimpered, wide eyed and distressed when he leaned forward to keep his right knee from jostling and exhaled shakily.

“Kitty, get the medical kit under the bathroom sink,” you requested, keeping your tone neutral, focused on the monster as he finally leaned back, panting shallowly and eye sockets still empty. The child hesitated, the start of a rebellious no forming.

“Go!” You hadn’t meant to bark, but it spurred them, leaving behind their stuffed bunny and blanket to scrambling off the couch and toward the bathroom. You waited until the kid disappeared around into the narrow hall before going to work and brushed aside trembling hands.

“Let me see,” you chided as G tugged his hat off and set it beside him.

“It’s nothing,” he returned, voice evenly pitched, too perfectly steady. “Got into a bit of a scuffle. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“You smell like the back end of a Gin Mill.” Your voice lacked the usual harshness, muttering quietly in the small space as you leaned over him and missed the wiry grin. 

G let you carefully poke and prod him, checking him the old fashion ways for injuries. Your hands skirted around the sides of his ribs, pressing lightly and they were sore enough for him to let out of a huff of air. You then drifted up, running roughened fingers along his neck, tracing his jawline and cupping the smooth round bone of his face all the way to the crisp cracks that stretched from above an eye socket. The scar looked irritated to you and when you swept your thumb across it, it came away dusty. You moved back down methodically, noting the scuffed and bruised knuckles and when you got to his legs, a skeletal hand wrapped around your wrist, halting your progress from touching his right knee. He squeezed warningly and the yellow eye light relit into a faded, dull version of its former glory to glower suspiciously.

A bristled challenge died on your lips just as Kitty reappeared, struggling to tug the large, black medical bag behind them. Their presence a brief truce between you two. You wisely remained quiet, glaring at G under your brow before you extricated your hand from his and sat back on your heels. You stared at each other in silence as the rhythmic scratch and thump got closer before Kitty placed the bag beside you and sank to the floor to watch quietly, swaddled in G’s shirt. The knot you had tied along the bottom had come undone and puffed around them like a wispy dress.

Offering the kid a quick tight smile, you got to work and dug around the sparse bag. There wasn’t much to offer and you’d make it a point to stockpile it when you had free time. _Some of us_ , you thought, _don’t have the capacity to heal with a nap_. You rummaged nosily and purposefully and only glanced up once to see G pass a mollifying grin over to the youngster, coming off more painful than he intended. You brushed against something sharp and pulled out the scissors you were looking for and took them to G’s pant leg at his distraction, catching the hem before he could protest. There was the brilliant rip of material as you gripped the raggedly cut ends and tore a line straight up the pants leg.

G immediately grumbled, “Those were new, you know.” You shrugged indifferently, content with your choice. With a scowl, he glanced again at the kid who was poking a bare foot at a roll of bandages you had set beside them. “What are you doing up, Kitty-Cat? Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

You didn’t need to look up to know he had directed that at you. You were focused on the ugliness of his right knee and you were certainly no doc, but you were fairly certain a kneecap shouldn’t be twisted outward. Even for a monster, G was built pretty similar to a human skeleton but instead of flesh and tendons, magic seemed to hold him together and you could make out a faint sickly glow between the joints. Instead of the usual brilliant yellow almost gold color you’d become accustomed to, it was pallid and cloudy, lacking the normal vibrancy. The patella or whatever it was called, kneecap, looked agitated and you cautiously brushed against it and gave a tentative nudge to see if it’d slid back into place. G’s sharp inhale made you withdraw your hands.

Frowning, you stood and brushed your pants off from kneeling on the dirty floor. “Kitty,” you addressed the kid, making them glance up at you. “Why don’t we get you dressed real quick and you can go to the corner store and get us some pop.” You dug around in a pocket for some loose change and caught their uncertainty.

“I know, I’m breaking the rules tonight. G’s home and we can celebrate, okay?” After a moment, they nodded and climbed to their feel, shedding the shirt in one quick wiggle to abscond to their room before you could follow. You bent as you walked, scooping up the discarded shirt to help them dress, finding them already tugging yesterday’s outfit on. You went to help but received a hand wave and pointed look and stood in the doorway.

“I get it, you’re a big kid.” With folded arms, you watched amusedly as they struggled for a moment, finally popping their head through the collar of their darling little sailor uniform. Their shorts followed but they let you help button them and tie their shoes. You slid pocket change into the coat you slipped over them, making sure they were well bundled. Ushering them back out, you made sure to herd them toward the front door and away from G.

“No dawdling, I want you back in two minutes.” You put a hand on their shoulder, making them pause while you looked out the peephole of the front door and opened it carefully, giving a quick look around. “No petting Avi’s mutt either, you know he slobbers all over you.” You accompanied Kitty down the two steps to the sidewalk and halfway across the street, stopping midway to let them cross themselves. Only when they were on the other side and slipping into the corner drugstore one building over, did you turn back. You knew the owner well and had been in there plenty of times with Kitty. A sweet, old Armenian man by the name of Avedis. He fell instantly head over heels for them, showing off his plethora of picture of his grandbabies to you and kept asking if Kitty was your kid. It was easier to say yes. Avi was a good man and he’d keep an eye on the squirt while they wandered around.

“What are you doing?” G straightened up from the couch, scooting over to a more comfortable spot as you closed the door minus Kitty.

“Had to get the kid out of here for a little bit.” You checked your rolled up sleeves and marched back to the couch, enjoying the slight recoil of G at your determination. “Your knee is dislocated and I need to set it.” Dropping to a knee in front of him, you wasted no time in reaching for his leg and immediately encountered a forearm sweeping your hand away while protecting the injury.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he argued. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Your loose shrug didn’t help. “We can wait for Pap in the morning.”

“Can’t wait that long,” you dismissed as you stood again to drag a nearby, rickety chair over. Catching him under the ankle, you lofted and he growled at the roughness before plunking the bared leg down on the support of the chair. “Lean back.”

“Well, give me a goddamn minute!”

You leveled him with a pointed look. “Kitty’ll be back soon and they don’t need to see this.” It should have been a good enough reason and you tried again, only for your hands to be grabbed once more and you felt the subtle pull of blue magic around your Soul. “Stop being a baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” G groused, throwing you a dark glare and you met it unflinchingly. He let go when you pulled your hands back but could still feel the tug of magic around you and if you weren’t careful, you’d end up face first in his lap. You were pretty sure G wouldn’t mind that.

Folding your arms, you sat on your heels and stared heatedly at the monster in silence as he stubbornly refused to back down. It wasn’t often you or G got into the thick of things, both street savvy combatants, you wouldn’t have been welcomed into the Gaster Family if you couldn’t hold your own, and this wasn’t the worse you’d seen G limp in with.

You tapped your fingers against your bicep impatiently and flicked your eyes to the old clock on the wall just inside the small kitchenette. Time to pull out all the stops. “G?”

“…What?” 

You refrained from smacking him at the childish snap. “G, look at me.” You didn’t think he would and when he finally lofted his skull to aim another annoyed glare in your direction, you surged up on your knees and caught him in the chest with one hand to shove him back. Blue magic was already tugging you down when you crashed your face against his in a rough kiss. Your aim was off and you caught the corner of his mouth, your other hand snagging the back of his skull to pull him hard against you.

A surprised grunt against your mouth was muffled and you squeezed your eyes shut when fingers tangled in your hair. Instead of tugging you away, they pushed closer guiding your lips to match the ridges of his mouth and the blue magic dissipated around you, making you feel light. You missed the softening of his brow and the feathered haze of his functioning eye light when your hand slipped to cup his cheek, following the carved scar downward and you felt him smile against your bruising force. Up close, you could smell him so much more better and underneath the boozy smell was the faint chalky scent of bone and dust and even deeper was the faint citrus bite of magic.

You dropped your hand lower to meet together against his sternum, pushing more to let you hover over him in an awkward hunch and you traced each rib through his shirt. Something brushed against your lips and you nearly jerked away out of instinct. Your hands drifted lower, catching the hollow below his ribs and brushing against the top of his ilium, earning a curious rumble against your lips. You felt the soft, warm sweep of his tongue again just as your fingers found his kneecap.

G seized away from you, tearing himself away from the kiss with a strangled sound when you popped the patella back into place with one good forceful drive. You knew you only had once chance to make it count and nearly got a knee in the face when the monster recoiled and you stepped out of range, tense and wary of retaliation. G may have been annoying thorn in your side, he was still your Don’s son and an extremely proficient welder of magic. He wasn’t too bad with a crowbar either.

Chest heaving, G lofted his chin to look up at you take a step back when he raised a hand. The flickering eye light deepened to a robust auric hue at the sudden rush of agonizing pain and on impulse he nearly lashed out and tasted you on his mouth. In an unspoken reply, you scrubbed your mouth with the back of your hand while the other remained clenched at your side in a fist. He took in your guarded stance, mussed up hair and swollen lips for a moment before a huff of laughter escaped him, dropping the arm and sagged back into the couch.

“What was that suppose to be, love?”

You scoffed, hoping to pass the warmth in your cheeks as annoyance and the sudden sped up heartbeat at avoiding a potential confrontation. “You were being a baby, you needed a distraction,” you offered. “It worked.” Holding your hands up in a pacifying gesture, you pointed at his shoe and received a curt nod. Grabbing a pillow from beside the skeleton, you propped it carefully underneath his knee to alleviate some pressure and untied the laces of the scuffed up black shoe, pulling the sock off carefully to expose the bare bones of his feet. You tried not to stare too long before running the tips of your fingers along the bottom of his metatarsals and they flinched, toes curling. You took it as a good sign.

You headed off toward the small kitchenette, barely a hole in the wall with just enough room for a small sink, a fridge jammed in the corner and a small spirit stove atop the miniscule counter space. There was a stove but it’d long since worked and instead of replacing it, someone had bought cheap camping gear and left it at that. You figured this was one of the lesser used safe houses by the dilapidated state it was in. Kitty and you had managed to bring it up to a fairly respectful livable standards by the time G staggered in. 

Flipping on the water, it sputtered before the water ran clear enough for you to dunk the nearby wash cloth into it and rung out the extra. Beside the spirit stove, you grabbed a bottle of whisky and splashed some into a recently cleaned cup and made your way back with your bounty.

“Wipe your face.” You tossed the rag at G who caught it. “You’ve got blood all over it. This?” You set the whisky beside him on the makeshift side table, beside your untouched flat beer. “Is to help with the pain.”

“It’s not mine,” G returned, sniffing at the cold towel and scrubbed at his cheek, smearing the red into a light pink.

“Figured.” You bent to toss the few items back into the medical bag, leaving out the bandage and a few band aids and set them beside the monster on the couch, atop of the stuffed bunny.

“Don’t you think that’s a little much?” He moved the stained wash cloth to his chin and under it, sweeping along a particular difficult spot to reach and knocked back the whiskey.

“It’s for the kid.”

“Ah.” It was a knowing answer. “How do I look?”

You glanced at him. “Better.” And tipped your chin down. “Your shirt.” 

G reached for his tie, loosening it to undo the buttons of his bloody shirt and stripped out of it with a light shimmy and left it over the side of the armrest. You took another look at the undershirt he wore, it was a little dusty but lacked the telltale sign of blood. You nodded your approval.

“Let me see your head.” You moved into his personal space, straddling his good knee to get closer to check the scar that ran up and over the back of his head. You tilted his head down so you could see how far the scar had spread and noted it hadn’t cracked any further. You wiped at a drop of marrow, already sticky and drying but the dust that had gotten trapped in it had helped clot it. You debating if wiping it with the rag would help or reopen it and decided to leave it be.

Face nearly pressed into your chest, G debating on leaning forward until his forehead touched the rough material of your shirt and contemplated resting his hands on your tantalizing hips. “What do I get as a distraction for this?”

You flicked him in the forehead as you stood back. “It doesn’t need anything but knowing Kitty, they’re not going to want to leave your side.” You grabbed one of the band aids and uselessly slapped it across his brow, knitting together the imaginary wound.

There came a light knock on the front door and you turned, keeping your body positioned in front of G as the door opened and you heard Avi speaking as Kitty appeared, squeezing through and turned toward the cracked door, “Farewell, my little Kittyjan, you take care of yourself.” The child shifted their grip on the black plastic bag and nodded fiercely before looking up as you made your way over. You set a hand atop their head and tipped your head toward G and they made a beeline for him. You opened the door a fraction more to watch Avi making his way back toward his shop and only when he was safely in, did you close and lock the door.

“Hey Kitty.” G sounded a lot better, voice no longer strained with pain. He pulled himself into a better sitting position and greeted the toddling youngster carrying their heavy burden with them. “What did ya bring us?” He accepted the bag, offering a hand to help pull them onto the couch beside him. Their cheeks were streaked with old tears and they rubbed at red and puffy eyes.

“Those crocodile tears better not be for me,” he tenderly scolded, a softness coming over him as he brushed a thumb beneath one of their eyes, wiping away the start of fresh ones. “Look, sweetheart here patched me up real good.” He tipped his head to show off the crooked band aid as you wordlessly moved through, picking up the medical bag to return it to the bathroom. “But, you know, I might need a little extra doctoring. You want to help, kiddo?” G scooped his hat and plopped it atop of Kitty, tugging it down playfully earning a soft huff and the upturn of a smile.

Kitty nodded earnestly and tipping their head back, unraveled the length of gauzy bandage with determined tugs. G offered his hand and patiently allowed them to wrap it around their palm several times, looping it around a couple of fingers. They fretted when they lost their grip and it partially unraveled but continued on with all the serious concentration a five year old could muster. They had pushed the hat from their brow, allowing it to fall backwards and pursed their mouth, the tiniest slip of a tongue peeking out as they clumsily tried to tie the ends together. They managed it with a little help from G holding the knot down with a finger until they could tie it again to ensure it wouldn’t come undone. The kid really was too adorable for their own good.

“Say, that’s not bad all.” G lofted his hand to admire the handiwork, turning it back and forth and caught the faint light overhead that shone through the thin gauze that covered the circular hole in his palm. He caught your gaze when you returned, still quiet as you gathered up the empty glass, wash cloth and bloodied shirt to head back to the kitchen. “Looks like I got myself a better nurse than you.”

You hummed your agreement before dumping the shirt and cloth into the sink and crammed the stopper into the drain before letting it fill with cold water. You refilled the glass and took a shot of your own and stared out the boarded up window over the sink, catching slivers of buildings from across the street and heard the murmur of voices.

“Let’s see what kind of soda you picked.” G gestured to the discarded bag at his side and peered inside at the three different flavors. “Oh, my favorite.” Plucking one out at random, he twisted sideways to snap the cap off on the edge of the crate and handed it to Kitty who then leaned heavily against his side, drawing their stuffed bunny into their free arm. “Who’s this cutie?” G tugged lightly on a floppy limb and Kitty pushed it into his lap to point at you when you returned, another whisky in tow.

You exchanged it for the second soda G uncapped and took up space on the far side of the couch, Kitty between you. The three of you settled into a comfortable silence, punctuated with the occasional question from G as he prodded Kitty about their day. How he communicated with them was still a mystery to you. You had to settle with vague pointing and subtle gestures and the rare word you could eek out of them. With G they seemed to blossom, animated and lively, so very different from the time you spent with them.

You had questions, questions you didn’t have a right to ask and therefore kept quiet out of respect for your Don. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder how could such a powerful mobster could be in leagues with a child, a human child no less. Where were their parents? Was anyone looking for them? Had G done something to them? You mouthed your soda distractedly, running the rim along your bottom lip before taking a swig and wrinkled your nose at the carbonation.

You noted their adorable power worked on G as well as he set aside the alcohol to drink his soda at the youngster’s insistence. He laughed suddenly and you couldn’t keep the surprise from flittering across your face. You’d heard the monster laugh quite a few times, yet, this sounded so… natural and happy, a heavy base undertone that seemed to resonate deep from within. He bent at the insistent wave of a hand and chubby fingers found the scar beneath his eye socket, tracing it carefully before Kitty arched up to press a soda flavored kiss to it, catching the corner of his mouth where yours had been earlier. The faintest blush ghosted across pale bone, a hint of cream so easily missed you might have mistaken it by the trick of the old yellow light bulb overhead. G retaliated by picking up the bunny rabbit and bopping it gently against Kitty’s face.

Eventually the chatter and charades tapered off until Kitty clutched their half finished soda in loose hands, bunny tucked under an arm and eyelashes fluttered against their cheeks. They stirred briefly, mouth moving silently before they finally drooped, out like a light. You set your empty soda bottle on the floor and brushed the pieces of label you’d picked off from your lap and twisted around for the kid, intending to put them to proper bed.

“Leave them,” G ordered, curling an arm around their small frame to cradle them carefully against him as he reclined back. Kitty sighed in their sleep, curling into the monster and nuzzled their head against his ribs.

Your hands went for the bottle instead, plucking it from sticky fingers and replaced the empty space with your bunny before tugging the old discarded quilt around them, throwing more of the length over G’s lap while you were at it. You sat back, twirling the contents of Kitty’s soda before shrugging to yourself and took a swig of it. It’d be flat by morning and no point in wasting it. Silence fell over the couch again, this time noticeably tense when the kid wasn’t involved. You had to ask, already knowing the answer.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

There was a contemplative stretch of silence. “No.”

“Really?”

“I could lie to you.”

As if that made it any better. “Isn’t that what you do, anyways?”

You could feel G looking at you and you scratched a dirty nail on the soda label, picking at the edge. He had a habit of staring, as if he wasn’t fully aware of it, but the one time you brought it to his attention, he blinked sleepily at you. Or maybe he winked, it was hard to tell with the empty eye socket.

“I don’t always lie to you, doll.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d have sworn he sounded almost hurt at the blunt accusation but when you turned to challenge it, he was staring into his whisky glass.

“I don’t always believe you.” You paused, finagling your way through your next thought. “Does it involve the Family?”

G glanced down at Kitty, brushing a few locks from their face to watch their eyes flicker beneath paper thin lids as they dreamed hopefully much better dreams. “No.”

Could you really trust him. “And your knee?”

You received a full blown wiry, cheeky grin. “Would you believe I jumped from a five story building and missed the fire escape?”

You snorted on the last of the soda and your nose burned. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” G tipped the whisky back and you not so stealthily stared, noting not a single drop was spilled and marveled over how fast monster anatomy worked to break everything down into magic. You tipped your head back as the empty glass was shoved in your face with a light shake and the skeleton received a single arched brow. “I’d do it, but… I have a Kitty-Cat on me.”

You side-eyed his reason just as the kid curled further into G, half crawling into his lap and he rested a bandaged hand atop their head, petting them softly and they settled down. You sighed, a totally not defeated by adorableness sigh and stood, brushing past the two and made your way to the kitchen sans glass and returned with the half empty bottle of whisky to pass it to the monster.

He didn’t bother to pour it the glass, instead taking a quick swing straight from the bottle and the slosh of liquid was loud in the quiet. He rested it atop his uninjured knee and tilted it to read the year and you caught the brief flutter of a snub at the cheap liquor before he chased it down with another long drink. “Why’s Kitty-Cat still up?”

It was a more open, earnest question, only lightly bitter with the same unspoken accusation. You still didn’t appreciate it but wouldn’t take it out the sleeping kid and answered truthfully. “They had a bad dream.”

G didn’t look surprised. “Poor kid.” He settled back again, grappling with the uncomfortable couch to find a spot where it didn’t sink or stab you with a broken spring. You thought about telling him that, spending more than your share of nights on it, but it was more amusing to watch him struggle. 

“You going to be good for tomorrow? We have a meeting with your father.”

The annoyed tilt of his brow was schooled immediately. “Yeah, I’m good,” he murmured tiredly, voice unusually deeper with only the lightest of slurs behind it. He leaned his head back against the couch and eye sockets closed slowly, one hand still gripped around the bottle while the other kept petting Kitty.

You spared him a rare smile, a subtle upturn of your lips. “Get some sleep, I’ll keep watch.” You stood, dusting your pants of any lingering imaginary dust and dirt and whatever else was lurking in the decrepit safe house. G really needed a different place for the kid to hang out. Cleaning it had certainly felt like a waste of time. Plus, you really didn’t want to clean.

G muttered, an irksome note of ire in his slurred words. “I don’t need you watching me.” 

“Baby,” you teased back.

“Sweetheart?” His tone changed, tilting his head toward you, eyes still closed.

“Yeah?”

The quietness waned between you and his chest rose slowly and evenly and you figured he’d fallen asleep before he could say whatever he was going to say. He took a deep breath, chin dipping slightly. “That was a lousy kiss.”


	15. Redacted

This is another one shot that was moved to it's new location [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988244/chapters/32208087) . Some of my one shots were fontcest (And other skeleton ship based) fics and not everyone likes those kinds of fics. To avoid hurting or triggering anyone, I’ve decided to separate them. That way, everyone gets what they want and everyone stays safe. I love you all!

P.S. I’m vain as heck and didn’t want to lose my comments and likes, so this is why these entries will remain up to keep my comments and the love for them.


	16. Old Souls - Undertale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to get over my fear of writing Grillby, then writing something focused around him? Foxtrot Folly doesn’t really count. Inspired by art I’ve seen in passing on pintrest and tumblr. I’m not entirely happy with how this came out but for whatever reason, I really struggled with getting this written.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Alcohol mention, food mention, talk of violence and blood.

Grillby could feel the change of weather before he set foot off the River Person’s boat and the heel of his boot sank into the soft, plush wet ground of Waterfall. He gripped the boat’s edge with a gloved hand, noting the steadiness of it in spite of the lapping water of the shoreline so dangerously close. The air obviously warmer and he appreciates it, but there was a light mist in the air as if the concentrated wetlands are threatening to overflow at the seams, leaving his flames to draw closer to his body and under the protection of his coppery red umbrella. Only when he found stable purchase did he let go and turn to give the River Person a polite nod, shifting his grip on his umbrella to let the pole rest against a shoulder.

“Thank you.” Quietly spoken with only the faintest accent of New Home graced the soft crackle of kindling. Grillby’s voice was a comforting tone; rich, warm and pleasant, and many a patron had fallen asleep to his soothing voice giving last call. At least he liked to pretend it was.

The River Person tipped their hooded head in his direction, fluidity to their movements that made them seem even more ethereal than their cloak suggested and the nod was returned with a sway of the heavy material. They waited patiently until the flame elemental had backed away a good distance before the boat gently rocked forward, gathering speed under the windless flight and all too soon they were gone, harkening to the next traveler in need of passage.

Nudging a gloved finger to his glasses, Grillby watched the lap of river water creep up along the bank, skipping over rocks and wet soil before sweeping away further downstream and unconsciously he took another step backward, feeling the crunch of dry earth beneath his soles. Beside him, a trio of glowing blue flowers bent over one another echoed the sound back in a soft harmony. Water drips from the cloud hidden ceiling, reaffirming his decision to start carrying an umbrella in his weekly travels to Waterfall. It was a little harrowing at first, but worth the trek and he hunkered further into his coat, the extra layers added to protect his flames.

The stark difference of color from Snowdin and Waterfall was in the shades and hues. His life was wrapped up the warmth of brown tones, shades of honey, amber and rust as a projection of the warmth his bar provided amidst the cold. Inside, he could watch the people walk and back and forth through the bay windows, clinging to one another for comfort and camaraderie, bundled in heavy coats to protest the chilly ice blue, sharper and crisper than the cerulean here. Here the blues had a different quality, a balmy and flushed glow matching the deepest flames that surrounded his Soul, burning quietly swathed in richer tones of crimson and tangerines.

He set out in a easy stroll, taking his time to traipse through the marshy lands, noting the different flowers that had sprung up anew the last time he passed through and paused long enough to admire a particularly pale flower woven into the creeping vines of the neighboring walls, translucent as snow and his flames sparked curiously. Waterfall was truly a beautiful place. 

An old, turtle monster dressed in a faded adventurer uniform was waiting for him at the entrance of a shop at the junction of the corridor. He leaned heavily against a cane carved from a gnarled length of stout wood, his gaze relaxed and easy as he watched a small snail cross the threshold of the front of his shop. He gave a contemplative tug of the white tuft of a beard on the edge of his beak before a single pallid gold eye swiveled up. The carefree worn lines of his face hardened in focus and the grip of his cane tightened minutely, paling the deep emerald scarred knuckles an apple green. In one quick calculating moment, the old monster relaxed and a rough cackle rumbled from deep within him, shaking loose the stringent wrinkle of his brow into a more peaceful look.

“Well travels, my friend!” He greeted the elemental ecstatically with a raspy pitched voice and a strong clap to Grillby’s shoulder, making him stagger a step under the deceitful strength. “Come in, come in, dry yourself off.” Gerson hobbled back in, clutching the cane tightly in one hand and keeping it close to his body to avoid catching it on the narrow entryway, making a quiet statement of it’s actual use.

Bowing slightly, Grillby politely ducked inside and gently shook his umbrella before closing it to prop it near the front to dry and avoid tracking in any unneeded moisture. The enclosed space of the shop has a quiet mugginess, stifling to those unfamiliar with it and Grillby found it a little uncomfortable. His flames pop and crackle a little more freely despite it, earning another sharp amused cackle from the turtle as he lead the elemental around his shop front and into the back where the wooden beams gave way to a cavern that opened further into living quarters.

The mugginess gave way to a cooler breath and the elemental relaxed, arching shoulders to shrug out of his protective layers as he glanced around. Gerson lived in what he could only describe as organized chaos and there was always something new and interesting that caught his eye. A workbench sat next to a roughly made bed, covered in salvaged finds from the dump. What looked like a radio in disarray and in the midst of being fix, bits and pieces scattered across the work space and he could smell the distinct burnt stench of a soldering iron cooling. A small kitchenette was to the right, built directly into the cave, shelves and cabinets jutting out from the dark stone walls over a small sink and stove. He always wondered how the old turtle had managed plumbing and electricity and eyed the small candles in mason jars that burned around the place, strategically staggered to afford as much light as possible. They caught the faint glitter of crystals buried in the wall and they in turn helped reflect light, giving the room a soft glow. A tapestry hung between the bedroom area and kitchen, the vague sense of privacy and Grillby appreciated the rugged, cobbled together feel to it and admired Gerson’s tenacity to live comfortably.

“Sit, sit,” Gerson ordered, gesturing randomly to his sitting area in front of his closed off sleeping area, two chair provided with a little table between them. He watched with an amused spark in his eye as the elemental shed his coat and scarf, hanging them up neatly to reveal his bartender’s uniform. The deep orange of his flames flickered comfortably in the safety of the room. “It’s a long trek from that snowy wonderland. Just make some room.”

“Thank you.” Ducking again to avoid a lower hanging section of the cavern ceiling, Grillby carefully picked up a wooden box of what could only be described junk, a highly valuable commodity and certainly worth a lot to a seller of wares and set it aside the leather back chair, making note to put it back when he left.

Gerson dropped into the other chair, a wicker based one with a rounded curved seat that conveniently fit his shell. It’d been one hell of a find in the dump and worth the fight to drag it back, reinforcing the soggy wood frame to accommodate his extra weight. Magic and light could be surprisingly heavy. He shuffled his cane between his feet, hands resting over the handle to spin it lightly, digging into the hard compacted soil of the ground underfoot and grinned as Grillby lowered his lanky frame into the leather chair, sitting straight and folded his hands in his lap.

“It’s good to see you again.” Grillby had an unhurried way of talking, prim and proper but Gerson knew it was out of reflex when he adjusted his glasses and glanced upward, the tilt of his jaw his give away.

“Relax, ya ol’ firecracker. I got the roof fixed the other day, haven’t had a leak since.” If fire could blush, he was certain the blue tint that ghosted across his flames could be classified as it. The reaction only made me cackle again, a rough wheeze of laughter that sounded unkind to the untrained ear. “Tea!” He banged his hand on his cane’s handle in sudden clarity and scooted forward, lifting himself up a fraction before plopping back into his chair with a scowl.

“Dagnabbit.” He tried again, shifting his stance wider to accommodate the low seating and his center of gravity before grunting to stand once again. “This chair gets smaller and smaller every time I sit in it.”

“May I?”

The scowl was redirected at him, losing a fraction of its fierceness at the gentle question. Grillby set one hand atop the armrest, intending to stand and waited respectfully. “I ain’t that old, kid. I can still take you on, any day.” He grunted again, struggling to stand before he leaned back with a resigned groan. “Maybe you should.”

With flames warming at the corners of his mouth, Grillby stood and shuffled around the small but cozy living space, pulling mismatching and chipped cups down onto a tray he tugged out from underneath a pot on a drying rack. The last few drops of water sizzled under fingertips, making his magic tingle before reaching for the kettle atop the stove. Filling it carefully, he held it in his hands and let his magic do the work, finding it gave it a much better taste. Leaning back against the sink, he focused the flames around his palms, crackling a brilliant blue and white in concentration.

“Have you heard about this new fellow,” Gerson said, setting his cane to the side within reach and dug around a nearby crate, plucking out a small tin box and gave it a quick shake, hearing the telltale rattle of bolts and screws. “The Nice Cream Guy?”

Grillby hummed thoughtfully. “No, tell me.”

“Young entrepreneur type, real go getter. Set up a business in Hotland selling ice cream with, get this, nice little messages tucked in the wrapper he writes himself.”

“That sounds nice.” The kettle gave a building whistle and Grillby made quick work of preparing some Sea Tea, a familiar and favorite of Gerson’s and watched the light sea foam green liquid swirl in the cups and there was a subtle smell of salt in the air, something he imagined water would smell topside. Clean, fresh with a lingering flavor that he couldn’t describe.

“He’s talking about coming over here to Waterfall if the business is good.” Gerson set the tin down and rooted around three identical ones.  
  
“I can see a market here.” Grillby set the kettle atop the stove. “Maybe not so much Snowdin.”

The old turtle cackled at that and accepted the cup of tea, balancing it atop his knee as Grillby set the tray down between them, taking a cup and saucer for his own. He held up a faded yellow tin and gave it a quick shake, hearing a few hard thunks of something inside. He popped it open to offer the elemental his pick of the lumpy, misshapen and oddly grey looking cookies inside. He recognized them as the latest creation of Undyne’s.

Grillby hesitated before taking one and slipped it beside his cup while Gerson shoved two into his mouth and munched happily. Tea in hand, the turtle sank further into his chair and relaxed enough to pick up idle chatter and gossip of the locals, Grillby interested in the current weather and whether it would impede his trade from New Home. The elemental received most of his supplies from the Capital but as of late he had started to invest in the locals who owned a few distilleries here and there. Snowdin was hard to come by for fresh fruits, vegetables and grains and it helped to establish friendly camaraderie if he could keep his neighbors in business and supplied with a warm atmosphere and drinks.

As rare as Gerson left his shop, he was quite the privy individual to the going ons in the Underground. There was the ever constant problem of overgrowth in New Home, families forced to move further out into Waterfall and edging into Hotland. Some trade had to be rerouted around the outskirts of the Core, as shipments had gone missing or considered misplaced with no recollection.

The conversation trickled back and forth, drifting into dangerous gossip territory when you know who got caught doing you know what with that other you know who. Eventually, Gerson rounded back to his favorite person of interest and Grillby smiled softly as the monster went on about his young aquatic protégé. Cookie crumbs spluttered everywhere as the turtle guffawed loudly and slapped his knee in excitement. Undyne had recently been accepted into the Royal Guard and there was no holding back the proud papa turtle as he; what Grillby could only describe accurately as, gushed about the youth.

Youngest of the Guard, tall as a mountain, strong as a boss monster and with the moxie that could rival an Astigmatism. And, his voice dropped low with a fondness, a fearless green soul through and through. It was easy for the elemental to feel just as proud by the shimmer of magic surrounding his old friend, alighting that familiar spark as he launched into a recent story of one of many of Undyne’s weekly spars with him and the messages of fairness and integrity he carefully wove throughout the lessons and story. Grillby could see why Gerson made a good father figure.

Taking a sip, the Sea Tea crackled lightly in his mouth, absorbing the magical properties of it before the rest could evaporate against his flames and Grillby peered inside at the delicate color.

“How’s that business of yours going?”

Grillby reflexively smiled. “Wonderful,” he answered with a contented sigh. “It’s really taken off this past year and I have a steady stream of regular’s who have made themselves quite at home. It’s hard not to when Snowdin… is so small.”

Gerson caught the hesitancy in his voice. “But?” He prodded.

“There’s this new patron,” Grillby continued with a light huff and even lighter shake of his head. “He’s most insufferable. His manners are atrocious and he has this peculiar fixation with ketchup.”

The turtle suppressed a wiry grin. “Well, it’s not like you haven’t had your fair share of trouble in New Home.”

“He has wrung up an awfully large tab,” Grillby’s flames crackled abstractly, flickering a moment with his emotions before settling down. “I have not been able to get him to pay on it for months.”

“Kick him out,” Gerson returned with a shrug. “Your bar, your rules.”

Grillby sighed quietly and stared into his nearly empty cup. “He has a younger brother and they’re fairly new and I believe it’s just the two of them.” Gerson hummed, sounding all too familiar. “Snowdin is a fine little town, but…”

“You can’t help but want to keep an eye on…?”

“Sans.”

“Sans,” Gerson repeated. “And his brother?”

The elemental nodded, finishing off his tea. “I don’t think Papyrus is any older than Undyne. Maybe a few years younger. It honestly wouldn’t be so bad, if it weren’t for his terrible jokes. There simply cannot be that many bone jokes.”

A chuckled stirred from the shopkeeper. “Oh?”

Grillby’s flames flattened in brief annoyance. “I assume it’s because he’s a skeleton based monster.”

“Really, now?” Gerson leaned back, his gaze growing distant and the lines around his brow deepened. “Didn’t think there were any more of them left.” It came out soft and wistful as he rubbed his chin before he roused himself. “Hey, look what I dug up out of the trash last week.” Setting his teacup down, he groaned as he reached to the side of him, blunt fingertips scraping along a covered object before he pulled it free, lifting it like a newly won prize and cradled it carefully like a newborn monster.

The water damaged label was nearly worn off but Grillby knew a bottle of scotch when he saw it. It was too difficult to make out any writing but the amber liquid inside was clear and buttery looking and the cap looked completely sealed. It was a rare find, indeed.

“Been saving it for just such a special occasion.” There was a gleeful glint in in the turtle’s single eye. “Let’s crack it open, shall we?”

“But, what about Undyne’s coronation? Wouldn’t that be a more suitable occasion?” Grillby was already carefully setting his tea cup aside and scooting forward to take a closer look at the scotch as it was handed over to him.

Gerson scoffed. “What makes you think this is the only bottle I found? Come on, Mr. Bartender, tell me if it’s a good year.”

Before he could answer the front desk bell rang loudly, clanking heavily with enthusiastic banging. Gerson perked up and shimmied his way forward until he was able to hoist himself to a standing position, tottering once before he regained his balance. “Excuse me, Grillby, won’t be but a moment.” He reached for his cane as a last minute thought and hobbled up to the front, disappearing from view.

Voice drifted faintly, Gerson’s cutting through sharply as he let loose a wild laugh and an uncertain chuckle followed before the patron dropped to a low murmur, no doubt working out a deal for the old monster’s latest acquisitions. Eyeing the bottle, Grillby rolled it around slowly and brushed a thumb against the peeling label, pushing back a section to see if he could decipher the make and year. He held it up to one of the low flickering candles, paused, smiled amusedly at himself before letting his flames grow a tad brighter to chase the dim away. A reflected sparkle across the room caught his eye. Canting his head, shadows lazily drifting in response and the glint returned like a dancing faerie of light, hidden by the thick tapestry. 

Glancing over his shoulder at the low clatter and the muted conversations, Grillby set the scotch down and rose smoothly to his feet. He tugged on the edge of his vest, making sure it laid flat and ran a palm down the front to smooth away invisible wrinkles. The shifting colors caught his attention and he wandered over to the glittering bit that plucked at his interest. Catching the tattered edges of the tapestry, he nudged it aside with the back of his hand and was rewarded with a burst of ruby and crimson, hues of red vying for attention as the light of his fire caught the handsomely cut gem set in the pommel of a sheathed sword. It glowed under his magic, the burnished golden guard and handle etched to resemble a flicker of flames that mirrored his own.

A crackle of shock ran through him, crisp and clear as he stared at the single weapon before pushing the tapestry roughly to reveal an entire wall of weaponry and armor, dutifully maintained in their decrepit state. A sickle with the blade snapped in half, a faint stain of red marring the pristine edge leaned against the wall, the delicate engravings and flower blossoms details nearly lost in the old, worn, wooden handle. A delicate pink scarf nearly translucent with age was wrapped around the bottom half, a memento to its former owner. It stood proudly next to a large square war hammer, faithfully cleaned and dull from use, the edges chipped and worn from a thousand battles. A silver, heavy and brutish helm with a large broken gash that ran across the face plate was placed atop the hammer’s handle, balanced carefully. Beside it and the sheathed sword, an incomplete suit of armor of matching gold, old and weathered with time stood proudly amongst the weapons, breastplate and bracers baring the same etched flame pattern that echoed the brilliant and massive shield baring the royal seal amidst the crawling flames that encircled the edges in a protective seal.

Grillby wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring at the weaponry but a light, purposeful shuffle signified Gerson was back and in the stoic silence stood beside the elemental and eyed the hidden weapons with an uncanny gleam in his good eye. His voice was little more than a hushed reverent crackle when he spoke. 

“I didn’t know you kept it.” Grillby hesitated before pressing fingertips to the shield’s front, tracing a scar that had marred the decorative design and felt the magic within thrum at his familiar touch.

Gerson grunted, shifting his stance to rest his weight on his cane with both hands. “Kept everything I could.”

“I didn’t know the King let you.”

“He didn’t.”

A ghost of a smile flittered across his face, a mere suggestion of color before it vanished into quiet contemplative pops.

“Couldn’t just leave it to gather dust in some storeroom.” Gerson offered with a shrug. “Wouldn’t trust any of them young whippersnappers to know what to do with it either. Beside dust themselves with it.”

Grillby shifted to the scythe, his hand falling away from the shield. Lady Corsiva. She was as beautiful a soul as she was gifted, a strong force to be reckoned with and the last skeleton he had met before the young brothers that periodically visited his bar.

“The greatest head of the Royal Guard to have ever live.” Gerson bowed his head respectfully. “Don’t think there’ll be another one like her. That is, until my Undyne takes over.”

“I have no doubts she will quickly rise amongst the ranks.” His gaze drifted along the shattered blade and it felt like he was missing something, the broken scythe holding an answer to an unknown question. It had been years, decades, since he had last seen the weapon, lying atop of a pile of rubble as if it was nothing more than mere trash. It had felt like a dishonor to see the once proud scythe reduced to nothing more than rubbish. He should have taken it that day, given it it’s proper respect. Subconsciously, he was drawn back to the sheathed sword.

He felt a nudged against his arm, “Go ahead, pick it up. For old times sake.”

His hand was moving before he realized, trailing upward toward the pommel and fingers remained outstretched, wavering with his decision before he dropped his hand. “No, I shouldn’t,” he returned shamefully. “I gave that life up a long time ago. I’m not…” Grillby cleared his throat, smoothing down the rasp of fire. “I’m a different monster now. A much better one.”

“And you still will be, _bartender_.” Gerson grinned and gestured toward the sword again.

There was a longer hesitation in his frame, flames crackling pensively before Grillby eased out his breath in a low puff of smoke and slowly reached out. It was like an old friend returning to him, fingers sliding around the perfectly molded handle and with the lightest of tugs, the sword slipped free of it’s scabbard, revealing the silvery color of the blade. Taking a step back, Grillby lofted the weapon and admired the brilliant hues of his flames as they reflected in the sheen, corals and ambers burning brightly, the smell and taste of soot and dust in the air.

He remembered the fires, massive, consuming walls of flames that devoured the forest and towns around him, threatening his soldiers and brothers of war. The others couldn’t handle the thick billowing black clouds of noxious air and heat but he had single handedly walked through the man made destruction, unhindered and unbothered by the screams that fell around him. The shriek of metal as he stood amidst the battlefield, sword and shield polished to an illustrious shine, ever at the ready to lead the army that would save all of monster kind. Gerson and Corsiva flanking him, strength and valor, beautiful and rugged.

He remembered the blood, humans didn’t dissipate into nothing and return to the earth as monsters did, their life streamed out of them in red rivers, gutted cries and fearful tears. Their bodies left to rot where they fell, covered in the dust of his people. It was a nightmarish unending fight, full of sorrow and agony and then darkness. A darkness so deep even his own flames struggled to pierce through the veil and he stared hard through the barrier as it settled into place with a finality that would doom them all. A single mage dressed in simple robes stood nearby, a hand outstretched as magic was pilfered from the few remaining monsters that had been caught outside of the barrier. He glared through the sifting dust and was met with coldness.

Grillby shuddered, his breath ragged and heavy as he stood in the middle of Gerson’s home, bewilderment rattling his frame and sending his flames crackling in faint wisps of blue and purple. The weight of the sword was familiar, comforting, eerily right and he could only stare at the gleaming sword in horrid silence as it’s magic wove around him in bittersweet caresses, leaving behind the warmth of battles long fought.

Slowly, painfully, he placed the sword back into its scabbard with a trembling grip and severed the magic that demanded he weld it once more. His flames softened, returning to their sweeter oranges and yellows. Grillby lofted his hand, backing away slowly as if the blade would turn against him for not bending to its whispering demand. He could still feel it, a missing piece of his magic returned, only for him to abandon it again and took refuge in the silent warring strength he gathered within himself. He was no longer that monster.

Gerson grunted softly, “Memories are a powerful thing. Sometimes it's good to remember.” And reached out to touch the edge of the hammer. “It’s all we have left.”

The sharp chime of a cuckoo clock broke the silence with a jarring, off pitch tweet and Grillby pulled the cuff of his sleeve back to glance at his watch. He’d been here quite awhile. “Thank you Gerson, it’s getting late and I must return home and finish my inventory for the night.” Unconsciously he picked up around him, cleaning after himself as he gathered his tea cup and uneaten cookie and set it in the kitchen near the sink, taking a moment to gather himself. “It was wonderful to see you.”

“Likewise, old friend.” Gerson watched him amusedly as the elemental picked up the bottle of scotch and forlornly set it aside as well. “Next time, let’s try the drink.” The turtled ushered him out, halting the elementals habit of double checking with a sweep of his cane, only pausing to let Grillby collect his coat and umbrella on the way out.

“Perhaps you could try for Snowdin?” He offered. 

“That cold draft up my shell?” Gerson cackled sharply. “I’ll stick with Waterfall.” 

Grillby gave a little smile and bow of his head. “Same time next week?” 

“I look forward to it.”

At the entryway of the shop, the umbrella was given one little shake before it snapped open and Grillby stepped back into the damp underground. With another cheerful wave, he headed off in a casual stroll toward the River Person’s boat, pausing long enough to enjoy the view.


	17. Short Shorts II - Multiverse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again with the short shorts. A little collection of some of my smaller things I write and hoard like a fanfic dragon.
> 
> And this is currently my last one shot I’ll post for awhile. Again, if you missed it, I’m taking a break to work on other Undertale stuff and coupled with a vacation next week, I’ll be under the radar for awhile. I hope to pick back up toward the end of August with Bitty Bones, Mafiatale and smut stuff, aaayyy.
> 
> Blue’s Writing Corner isn’t being shelved either, I’ll still be working on things here, there just wont be a set schedule like before. If you still want to see what I’m up to, I have a [tumblr](https://blue-means-stop.tumblr.com), it is 18+ only though, but you’re welcome to lurk or harass me on there. I reblog stuff, do occasional arts and fics and post my silly thought processes every once in a while.  
>  **WARNINGS:** Food mention.

**SANSBY (UT Grillby/UT Sans)**

Sans leaned his chin on his folded arms and stared at the half empty ketchup bottle in front of him. He dragged a blue tongue on the inside of his teeth, tasting the lingering vinegar along his palate and sagged further into his slouch. The heavy blue jacket several sizes too big seemed to swallow him up, aiding in the pitiful look. He exhaled a soul weary sigh, drawing the attention of the fire elemental standing nearby.

Grillby gave a concerned hum, the quiet snap and pop of his fire a heartening sound against the background noise of the bar patrons behind them. He set the glass down he was polishing to fill it with a little fire whisky and passed it along to a red bird monster. Delicately perched wire rim glasses shifted back to the skeleton as he picked up another glass, tsking at the droplets of water from being freshly washed and reached for his cleaning rag. He gave Sans room to speak and watched his boyfriend thoughtfully.

“you know what’s not cool?”

“What, Sans?”

“fire.”

Grillby dropped his rag on the counter, set the glass down and walked away, absolutely done.

 

~*~*~*~*~

Here were a few fontcest/skeleton fics that were moved [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13988244/chapters/32208087).


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